


The Moth who Came In from the Cold

by thor20



Series: The Children Of Sylvain [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Arc 4, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arc 3 was quietly resolved offscreen and all we got out of it was Indrid, Brief mentions of gore, Complete Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lodge Drama, M/M, Memory Loss, Mothman gets around, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Podfic Welcome, Political conspiracy, The Adventure Zone: Amnesty, Trans Dani, Trans Duck Newton, Trans Male Character, deadnames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-08-20 08:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 153,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thor20/pseuds/thor20
Summary: Not all visions come true. Not all things can be foreseen. Not all futures can be changed.Or, Indrid Cold meets a man on a warm November day in 1963, and makes one of the biggest mistakes of his entire life.





	1. The Red Sunglasses

_November 22, 1963_

_Dallas, Texas_

_12:23 p.m._

Man, he was tired.

It was the kind of tired that came from sour drugstore coffee and aching arches, misread weather reports, indigestion, stress. Something bone-deep: something he hadn't felt since the early days of training camp, and something he never wanted to feel again. Damn the weather. Texas had no right being this warm in November. But it was a Friday afternoon, the end of his first week on the job, and destiny really had to cut him some fucking slack.

He checked his watch. 12:24.

Behind him, he could sense the crowd shifting, murmuring. Somewhere, a baby started crying. All around, coats were off and draped over the metal barriers, and the sun gleamed on tie pins and pearls. Nothing but the Sunday best for the President. The Secret Service agent grumbled something incoherent and curled his toes inside his shoes. 12:25. They said it was going to rain all day, and here they were, 67 degrees and sunny as the light shining out of God's asshole. Wonderful. He was sweating so much in his damn overcoat that he was about to dissolve. Not his fault that he was born and raised in West Virginia. Appalachian Novembers were brutal, but he was used to them. He was used to Novembers being chilly as the Arctic, not balmy and warm.

Man, fuck Texas.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir?"

He summoned a bland Secret Agent smile and turned to face the voice: thin, faint, a bit shaky. Probably a nervous young teenage boy - the precocious type, a bit antsy, with freckles across his nose and his tie pulled up snug against his neck, with his school knapsack on his back and some ink stains smudging his fingers. Neat-combed hair and pressed pants. The kind of kid who would sooner staple his tongue than swear. Nervous and excited to see the President, and full of questions and bullshit and -

The bland smile froze on his face.

No rosy-cheeked, nervous-smiling up-and-coming student senator stood before him. Instead, the agent looked up, and up: he was face to face with a man nearly a foot taller than him - and at six foot two himself, that was no easy feat - with long, white-streaked black hippie hair pulled back in a ponytail. All sharp, hunching lines, and an anxious downturned mouth, and two positively enormous ears that were plastered nearly flat to the side of his head.

He wore red-lensed sunglasses that the agent could easily see his own reflection in. And an old secondhand army parka, battered and torn, with what looked like several sweaters underneath.

12:26.

"Sir," said the man. "Uh."

The agent said, "Who are you?”

"Who are you ?" the man said, at precisely the same time.

The agent blinked.

"Sorry," the man said again, laughing nervously. His hands, jammed deep inside the pockets of his parka, flexed. The agent's hand drifted towards his gun. "Sir. Agent."

That puckered, nervous half-smile twitched and faded completely. Now the man before him was serious. A strange chill went down the agent's spine, like a breath of cold wind. "You have to believe me when I say this," said the gaunt man. "But -"

The man's cheek twitched, a convulsive half-aborted movement that sent off alarm bells in his mind. The agent's eyes skimmed over the man again - gaunt, pale, twitchy, long hair - and gripped his gun tighter. "Sir, I'm not sure you understand precisely what's going on," he said slowly. The man's attention drifted back to him; he had been watching the road. "The President of the United States is going to be coming through here in... approximately -"

"Four minutes," they said together.

"Yes, I know," the man said. His hands slowly emerged from his pockets, all long pale fingers that made the agent's skin crawl to see them. The fingers, faintly stained yellow, twitched; the agent surreptitiously took a deep breath, nostrils flaring to test the air. No skunklike odor; not a pot-smoker, then. What was this man's fix? "Two minutes now, actually. Agent." The agent frowned, blinked, and glanced at the clock tower. 12:28.

Hands seized the lapels of his jacket.

The agent was jerked around to see the pale man's face nearly against his. He had a long, pointed nose, and his skin was clammy - feverish, almost. The agent half-drew his gun. Next to him, a mother saw the altercation and grabbed her young son's shoulder in a vicelike grip. "Come along, Edmund -"

"But Mom -"

"Sir, you must listen to me," the man breathed, and his grip on the front of the agent's jacket shook.

"Edmund, come here this instant, I'm serious."

"Mister, if you don't let go of me immediately, I'm going to be forced to take action," the agent whispered fiercely. "You're -"

"Disturbing the people." Their words overlapped yet again. "I know, I know, and I am sorry," the man said softly. This close, his breath reeked of nutmeg and vanilla, and dust. "But I must - I - sir, I'm so sorry, but you have to believe me - at 12:30, the President is going to be shot and killed."

The agent's blood went cold. "How do you know?" he heard himself demand. "How do you -"

Faint cheers down the road.

"He's going to be shot, from the top floor of the Depository, sir, you have to believe me," the man demanded, his voice growing louder. "You just have to -"

The distant roar of an engine.

Now, this close, the agent could just barely see through those near-opaque red lenses, and behind: eyes wide with panic, pupils - pupils narrow and... He couldn't focus. He couldn't. Behind him the cheers grew louder, before him the man's shaking grew stronger, nervous sweat beginning to bead on his pale, corpse-like skin - and he knew the smell on the man's breath, now. Eggnog. Christmas was coming. Eggnog - he knew that smell. Christ alive, was this man drunk? There were dots swirling in his vision, in his mind, and he tried to connect them because it was 12:29, and there was nothing he could do.

"Sir," he said, his voice calmer than he felt. "I'm afraid you're drunk."

The man let out a slow, shuddering breath.

The agent holstered his gun, and reached for the handcuffs clipped to his belt. First week on the job, he told himself. First week. Bagged a maniac at the President's motorcade. Look at you go. He said sternly, "Let go of me and put your hands in front of you -"

12:30.

Shots rang out. The spectators screamed. The agent whipped around, and the nervous man's grip slipped away - "Edmund, don't look, sweetie, don't look," said the woman, clapping her hands over the boy's eyes.

"Mom, my name -"

"Now isn't the time, Edmund, please," said a man that was probably his father, grabbing his wife's shoulder and dragging her back and away. "Oh, Christ..."

"My name is _Ned,_ momma -"

"Edmund, _stop it!_ "

The agent froze, and all he could do was stare. Three tons of sleek black metal screamed past - blood splattered like gravy from a shattered tureen at Thanksgiving all across the cream interior, Jackie frozen in tableau reaching out, reaching back, something red and glistening in her hand - and God, the _blood,_ -

First week on the job. First week. _First week,_ and this is what he gets - a dead president, on his watch, right in front of him, and nobody could have seen this coming -

"Hey! Hey, mister!"

There was tugging on the bottom of his too-warm, too-thick, thrice-damned to hell and back overcoat. "Edmund, get back here!" his father snapped.

"Hey, mister, that guy!" the kid said. Goddamn, no more than eight years old, not fazed at all by John Fucking Kennedy getting his head blown off twenty feet away from him, staring up at him with a set jaw and a serious glint in his eyes. Kids. Holy hell. "That guy, the one who grabbed you! He's -"

The kid pointed off into the crowd. The agent's head jerked up, and he saw the black-streaked white ponytail vanishing into the crowd. He grabbed his gun. "Thanks, kid," he said.

"My name's -"

"Ned, fine, thank you Ned -" The agent surged forward, shouldering his way through the crowd. "Secret Service coming through, move, ladies and gentlemen, I said _move!_ " he barked. From far behind, he thought he heard the young boy shout something, but it was lost in the crowd. Voices, shouting, screaming -

He pressed on. Following that ponytail, and that pea-green army jacket, and the glint of red glasses in storefronts. Overhead, the sun beat down like an unforgiving lamp in the cloudless sky - no longer drowning him in heat, but dragging something heady and hot from his bones. Energy he thought he'd lost. That drugstore coffee finally kicking in. First week, his footsteps sang as he ran down the street: first week, first week, a president shot, and a case solved, maybe, with your name on it, in your first week, first goddamn week!

And it seemed like it would be simple, then, in that moment: the man in the seven sweaters and army jacket did not seem to know he was being followed, he did not know - his pace was slowing, those long and lanky legs of his buckling and stumbling. He seemed weary, already, and the agent felt a brief stab of sympathy, until he caught a glimpse of that man's pale pointed face in a storefront again -

_"At 12:30, the President is going to be shot -"_

He clicked the safety off his gun. The man knew. God, he knew something. First week, first week. He forced his legs to pump faster. Ahead, the man wove around a streetlamp and jumped over some garbage cans on the curb, almost seeming to take flight in that instant - the coat, unbuttoned, spread behind him like wings, and the shadow on the pavement seemed almost impossibly large.

And then the walkie talkie on his belt crackled.

_"Agent Stern, this is Davis. Report your position. Over."_

He hadn't expected that, the voice of his commanding officer, and it made him stumble - and ahead of him, so did the pale man in the green jacket. Right over a crack in the pavement, and into a storefront, so hard that the glass pane rattled and his glasses slid off the end of his nose -

And his body began to - to change.

(Decades later, when he told his children and nephews and nieces this story, he still found it hard to find the words to describe it. Like looking in a funhouse mirror, he said once, but no, that was not it - funhouse mirrors distorted what was there and made it something impossible, but something recognizable through it all. Your face, your bones, your clothes. This, this had no roots in anything that he knew. Nothing he could see, nothing of this world: like seeing shadow take shape and reach out with a grasping hand; like the moon growing eyes and following you with its new sight.  
  
It - he could never find the words. So he just told them what he saw. And with every word, he wished he could find a real, true metaphor to fit what he saw, there in the stark November sun on a street corner in Dallas, Texas.

Because the cold stark truth was hardly believable.)

It began with the shoulders: the first part that Stern could see, with this man's back to him. The fabric bulged and twisted, as if something was trying to punch its way out from underneath; the man's back hunched, as if in pain, and his skeletal-fingered hand dug into the pavement -

And the hands too began to change: melding, growing, becoming almost grotesquely long and hooked. The arms followed, becoming spindly as sticks and growing far out of the sleeves of his coat, thin enough that Stern could reach out and break the thickest part of his arm with just one hand. The man's shoulders shook again, as he drew a pained breath. The sound was like a generator powering up in a cave, all echoes and shrieks and God, that sound, it made Stern’s skin crawl like it was on fire-

The man looked over his shoulder.

Stern’s grip on his gun tightened convulsively, and his breath turned to cold steel in his lungs. The face - God, the face. Red, multi-faceted eyes, like rubies sunk into his skull, and a nose growing steadily longer and longer like a  - like a proboscis-

Suddenly the back of the man's coat exploded.

Stern flinched and pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete and into the glass storefront; it exploded into a million sharp teeth, the sound like a thunderclap -

\- as two enormous, batlike wings emerged from the back of the man's coat, casting the street in shadow. "Jesus Christ," Stern gasped, and dropped his gun. The wings swirled like a hurricane, sending the hats in the storefront whirling and twirling on their stands, and the jackets fluttering like dozens of tattered flags, and beat down. The man shot straight up into the sky, into the blinding sun, like a moth flying straight for a lamp.

Somewhere in the glass, scattered across the sidewalk, lay a pair of red sunglasses.

For a long time, Stern stood there and watched the sunlight gleam on them, in pure, shocked silence. First week on the job. First fucking week. Somehow he could only focus on that: that his first week had just ended, and that there was a broken store window in front of him, and for Christ's sake they would probably have to pay for that out of his paycheck -

There were sirens in the distance. Distant voices crackled down the line, stating positions, signals, names and faces. Stern signed and reached for his radio. "On Market and Elm," he sighed, staring at the red sunglasses. He slowly strode through the broken glass, crunching under his boots like new-fallen snow. "Thought I had a lead on a suspect. Fell through."

He examined the sunglasses, and folded them, and gently tucked them into his pocket.

"Over."

* * *

_December 24th, 1986_  
_Clarksburg, West Virginia_ _  
_ 10:47 p.m.

Uncle Arnie fell silent, gazing into the fireplace. A log fell apart inside, sending a fountain of sparks up the chimney. "And that was it," he said, staring at the guttering flames. "That was what I saw, that night."

Out of their uncle's view, Cousin Felicity let out a jaw-splitting yawn, and rolled her eyes. Gary glared at her; she glared right back, and slowly reached up to thumb her nose at him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. They had all heard this story dozens of times before, at every Christmas, every New Year's, every Thanksgiving, every single damn Easter - but it was a story that never got old. Gary liked it, damn it. He was eight. He knew what he liked. A story about Mothman at the Kennedy assassination? Hell, get that engraved on his tombstone, that was _wicked._

Felicity didn't seem to agree. She never went for that kind of ooky-spooky creepy stuff. She stuck out her tongue at him and glared into the fireplace.

His mother cleared his throat awkwardly behind him. "Arnie, it's getting late," she said.

Uncle Arnie ignored her. "I was fired that very same day," he finished, with a wry chuckle, like he always did. Gary could practically hear his mother roll her eyes. "Didn't take a damn thing away from it -"

"Arn, watch your language 'round the kids," his other uncle, Felicity's dad, muttered. He was wearing a Christmas sweater that looked like Santa took a shit on it, all tinsels and glowing lights and pain. His mom's family always had really bad fashion taste.

"-'cept for those glasses. Still have 'em today," Uncle Arnie went on, patting one side of his jacket, as if he had them stowed away in his pocket - but Gary knew he never did. "Take 'em out and look at 'em sometimes - maybe put 'em on, just to see what'll..." He paused, and opened his mouth in a jaw-splitting yawn. "...see what'll happen. Criminy. I'm gonna turn in, folks -"

Everyone in the living room breathed a silent sigh of relief.

" - have a good one."

"You too, Arn," yawned Felicity's dad. "Happy Christmas." There was a general murmur of the same around the living room, and one by one, they dispersed to their own rooms.

Except for Uncle Arnie. Gary sat there on the rug by the Christmas tree, watching the rest of the family filter out, and watching his uncle, who did not move and stared pensively into the fire. As if waiting; as if watching. When the room was empty, his eyes slid to Gary's.

"Cool story, Uncle Arnie," Gary said quietly. “Never gets old.”

One corner of his uncle's mouth twitched upwards - an oddly subdued smile, for a man usually so cheerful. Maybe it was the time - it was almost 11:00, after all, getting late - but his uncle definitely seemed a bit. Off.

"Gary," he said quietly. "You're a good kid, you know that?"

Gary wasn't sure what to say; he just nodded. People said these kinds of things to him all the time.

"You're gonna go places," his uncle said, that same soft half-smile on his face. "I've got a feeling 'bout that, Gary, you've got good things in store for ya."

"Thanks, Uncle Arnie," Gary said softly. The fire crackled.

Then his uncle reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small package - not very thick, about as long as a Hershey's chocolate bar, wrapped in brown paper and twine. "Got a bit of an early Christmas present for ya," he said, eyes twinkling a little bit. Gary scooted forward across the floor and took it, eagerly tugging at the twine holding it together.

The paper fell away. His fingers hovered over its contents. "Uncle Arnie," he said slowly.

"Hm?" the man said, raising his eyebrows.

Gary glanced up at him. "Are you just... yanking my chain?" he said. "Because if you are -"

"No, no, kid," Uncle Arnie said. His face was serious, now - not a twitch, hard as stone. Gary felt vaguely uneasy, and yet excited at the same time. "I'd never do that to ya. Not with this."

In the paper package was a pair of dusty, scratched red sunglasses.

"I got a bit of a request for you, Garfield," Uncle Arnie said quietly.

Gary stared at him. Uncle Arnie knew how much he hated his name, and never - _never -_ used it unless it was important. His face was cast in two-toned shadow, light flickering madly in his eyes. "If you ever get the chance, in the future," his uncle said, "do me a favor. Look into those glasses. Investigate. Poke around. See what you find."

"But Uncle -"

"Shush, no, no sir. Quiet for a bit, alright? Listen to me. I might have only been a Secret Service agent for a week, but I know things. I've seen things. Kid, there are places you can go and things you can see -"

A shiver began to travel down Gary's spine.

"- that nobody else could ever imagine. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Gary whispered.

"So - so." A bit of the steam seemed to run out of Uncle Arnie, and he sat back slightly in his chair. "Hmph," the man said softly, staring at the glasses. "Just. Look into it. You'll get the chance."

"Thanks, Uncle Arnie," Gary said quietly, looking down at the red sunglasses. The fire flickered madly in its lenses.

"You're gonna go far, Gary."

"You say it, I believe it, Uncle Arnie."

* * *

_October 5, 2018_  
_Kepler, West Virginia_  
_3:47 p.m._

"Hello? Pardon me, I’m looking for... Ned Chicane. Proprietor of the Cryptonomica? I was told by his associate Kirby I could find him here."

The man turned around, bristling eyebrows raised in polite, friendly suspicion. He looked about his uncle’s age, maybe 20 years younger or so, and exactly like a "Ned Chicane" would look: bearded, burly, laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, like some kind of backcountry Santa Claus. "That's me!" the man said cheerfully. "Heh - hm! What, uh, what do you need jolly old Ned for?"

Agent Gary Stern held out his hand. "Mr. Chicane," he said smoothly, "my name is Agent Stern, FBI."

And he smiled. "At your earliest convenience, sir, I would just _love_ to see your Bigfoot video."

* * *

When Gary saw the footage of Bigfoot - definitely too convincing to be a fake - he went to the Kepler and immediately noticed some odd things. Shimmering skin; strange shapes lurking in the hot springs; a Winnebago parked by itself in the woods; too-sharp teeth; suspicious park rangers, flame rippling on fingers, crystals on necklaces that gleamed a bit too brightly in the shadows.

Gary Stern started following Ned around first - that man doubtlessly had something to hide. He was connected to the original video, he was sure of it. But Ned gave him the runaround, locked all his doors, and ducked behind the imposing figure of "Mama" whenever Stern tried to corner him at the lodge. So that was out.

Next was Aubrey: the Lady Flame. A nervous, skittish, easily distracted young woman with an enormous pet rabbit, who seemed out of place in this town. Young, punk, full of life and vibrance that belonged more on the streets of New York than a backwoods, boondocks town in the West Virginia woods. Sometime after Stern arrived, she started wearing sunglasses at all hours of the day. Stern caught her walking into walls a couple of times, or shambling through the halls of the lodge with her arms outstretched like a zombie.

Her presence here was suspicious on its own, but sometimes if Stern looked closely he thought - he thought - that he could see sparks shooting from her fingertips when she was angry. And sometimes he thought he could see an orange glimmer through one side of her sunglasses. But Aubrey seemed to have some sort of government spook sensor, and was always impossibly busy when Stern came around. Elbow deep in cooking food with Mama. Hunting down Dr. Harris Bonkers. Discussing music with that girl Dani. So she was a dead end.

And Duck. Duck, Duck, Duck Newton. Good grief, that man could not tell a lie to save his life. Stern just knew that Duck was trying to hide something; every time he tried to talk to him, Duck stammered and hemmed and hawed and never gave him a straight answer. Like whenever his cousin Felicity got caught caught with her hand in the cookie jar at Gary’s house, around Christmas. Duck wasn't as good at evasion as the others, but Stern still found it hard to make him spill anything. The ranger station would call in sometimes about fires being set in the woods, or someone's old car breaking down on a lonely trail. And duty called, so Duck would have to go. Stern understood. He was a man of the law, too. It was just so _inconvenient_ , sometimes.

But he could tell that those three were tied up together in something. Duck, Aubrey, and Ned. An unlikely team, but united by... something. A common secret, perhaps. A common cause.

There was only one way to be sure.

He was a government agent, after all - like his uncle Arnie. He had his ways. He could do it.


	2. Frostbite

 

_January 19th, 2019_

_Eastwood Campgrounds -_ _Kepler, West Virginia_

_7:23 p.m._

Nearly everyone at the Lodge knew about Indrid.

Nobody seemed to _know_ him - they just knew _about_ him, the way everyone knew about Boo Radley in _To Kill A Mockingbird_ but never really had the stones to go talk to him. As a result, the three of them always got weird looks when they left to go to Indrid's neck of the woods: the lonely campsite where his rusty Winnebago was parked, buried in the Monongahela National Forest like a dagger. Duck and the others tried to make it a point to check up on him once every couple of days, now that the weather was truly taking a turn for the worse. But even after Indrid had helped them take down the last bom-bom, people were a bit leery of the three of them heading out to Indrid's campground of their own free will.

"Ain't that just ironic," Ned grumbled into his scarf. They trudged up the snow-packed trail to Indrid's home. "Everyone knows him, but nobody's seen 'im, huh? Not in -"

"Years, yeah," Audrey huffed, jamming her hands into her pockets. Her sunglasses were crusted with ice.  "He's like a cryptid."

"He is a cryptid," Ned said, and snorted. "The cryptids’ cryptid. Hilarious, isn't it? Even the Lodge folks have tall tales about him."

Duck said nothing.

The Winnebago's rusted panels flickered between the bare tree branches in the distance. It was quiet - quieter than usual, in the forest, and Duck's ears strained to listen for something he couldn't identify. There was hardly a sound, except for the crunching of their boots through the packed snow. If he looked closely enough, he could see the footprints from their last visit.

Twigs snapped behind them. Aubrey flinched and looked over her shoulder, walking backwards to get a better look. Duck ignored her, until she looked like she was on the verge of bumping into Ned, and gently grabbed her shoulder to steer her away. He was still listening. Then as they hit the clearing, he realized what that silence was.

It was as if someone had dropped snow down his collar. "Aw, shit," he muttered, and started sprinting towards the Winnebago. It was the generator - or, rather, it wasn't. At some point it had stopped chugging away, and it was covered in a thick layer of ice. Normally the thing was loud as sin, but now it was completely out of juice. Duck ran up to the generator and flicked the power switch, but nothing happened. "Fuck," he muttered.

He stood up and headed over to the door of the Winnebago. As he went, he caught a glimpse of Aubrey; she was still looking back into the woods, hands on her hips. "Hey, Aubrey - Aubrey!" he yelled.

She jumped and turned around. "What're you looking at?"

"I thought - I thought I heard something!" she called out, shuffling towards him. Her sunglasses started to slide down the tip of her nose, and she hurriedly pushed them back up. "I guess I was just imagining things."

"Hm."

Duck stood on tiptoe to look through the Winnebago's windows, but the ice on them was pretty thick. He tried to scrape it away, but it didn't seem to come off. "Indrid?" he called out, squinting through the rippling ice. Damn, this shit was so thick that he might need a crowbar to get it off. There were no signs of life inside: no lights, no sound, nothing.

"Hey, Aubrey," Ned said, pointing at the generator. "Think you can melt some of that off?"

"Huh?"

Duck pounded harder on the window. "Hey, Indrid!"

"That ice. Think you could -?"

"Ooh, good idea -"

"That's a fuckin' horrible idea," Duck snarled, worry making his voice harsh and cold, "that thing might still have gas in it, and if you use fire near it, it will fuckin' _explode_." The other two blinked at him, then looked at each other. Duck grimaced and turned back to the window. "Indrid, open up!"

"Have you tried opening the door?" Ned said wryly.

"Shut up." But he hadn't; so he did. Duck looked at the handle - crusted with ice as well - and, the unease in his gut turning into straight-up panic, gave it a solid punch. The door swung inwards - unlocked the whole time.

A blast of frigid air hit him straight in the face. He froze. The door started to swing shut, and he only just remembered to put out a hand and stop it.

The inside of the Winnebago was pitch black: the heaters were off, the refrigerator silent, and the walls covered in a thin film of ice. The thousands of drawings on Indrid's walls glimmered faintly in the diluted light pouring through the windows; each sheet was covered in faint crystals. "Oh, balls," Aubrey croaked, and bounded up the stairs. Duck forced his legs to move and followed her in. The cold breeze rustled the curtains.

What looked like the contents of half the linens section of Kepler's local thrift store was piled on the sofa; Aubrey ran over to the pile and started pushing the blankets aside. "Indrid?" she said worriedly. "Hey - hey, Mothman, buddy, you okay?"

There was a thin, wheezy groan from deep inside the pile, and the sound made Duck's stomach lurch. He pushed Aubrey out of the way and said, "Indrid, holy fuck, are you okay?" Behind him, the door swung shut - Ned's doing, probably. The blankets twitched, and he caught a glimmer of red-tinted glass, the sharp edge of a cheekbone.

"Aubrey, lemme talk to you for a second," Ned said, quietly. Grimly. Aubrey gently moved away, leaving Duck by Indrid's side.

"What does it look like?" Indrid wheezed. His voice was muffled by the blankets, barely audible, but Duck could still tell that something was deeply, deeply wrong. He connected the dots: the broken generator, the ice on the windows, the frigid bite of January both inside and out. Damn. Sometimes he wondered how Indrid was still alive out here by himself.

"Looks pretty bad," he said feebly.

"Pretty bad," Indrid said at nearly the same time. Nearly; just a bit behind.  The cold must have made him sluggish.

Aubrey and Ned were whispering behind Duck, but he tuned them out, and gently put his hand on where he thought Indrid's shoulders were. "Man, we didn't - I didn't know the generator went out, I'm sorry," he said softly. His breath fogged the air in front of him, clouding what little of Indrid's glasses were poking out of his cocoon.

"Duck."

Duck waved a dismissive hand at Aubrey. "Indrid, I dunno if we can - we can't just leave you out here, buddy, you're gonna freeze to death," he said.

"Won't," Indrid murmured. "Haven't yet."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Duck," Ned said.

"Shut up, Ned, it won't kill ya," Duck snapped. "Indrid, what do you -"

"What do you -" Indrid's voice overlapped his. "Been like this for... coupla days."

The blood rushed out of Duck's face. "Are you fucking serious," he said flatly. He stood up, staring around the inside of the Winnebago. "That's it," he said, glowering at the film of ice on the walls. "We're getting you out of here. Jesus fuck, Indrid, why didn't you leave and tell us...?"

A couple of days? God, Indrid had been like this for a couple of days??? This wasn't - this weather wasn't healthy for a normal human, but Duck knew that Indrid had to be warm in order to survive. Last time they were here, it was hot and humid - a sauna, almost - and now was the polar opposite. Good grief. He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why the hell did Indrid have to live out here? Duck saw this kind of thing with inexperienced campers from the coast all the damn time. They underestimated how brutal the winters could be, this deep into the mountains. Indrid could have died! He could have -

"Duck!"

Aubrey's voice snapped him back to reality. "What?" he said, a bit harshly.

He turned around. Ned and Aubrey were watching him. Ned, for the first time Duck had known him, looked serious and grim. Aubrey just looked... afraid. The sight made some of the anger drain from him, replaced by a cold, stony dread. "What?" he said, softer this time.

Ned crossed his arms. "We can't take him back to the Lodge," he said.

" _What_ -"

"Yet," Ned said loudly. His eyes flashed, a bit nervously. Good to know the same old Ned was under there somewhere, but that still didn't reassure Duck at all.

"Why?" Duck demanded.

Indrid and Aubrey spoke at the same time.

"We've been followed," they said. The blanket pile started shivering, but from cold or anxiety Duck couldn't tell. Aubrey crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"It's Stern," she said.

Duck’s heart dropped into his stomach. God, no. Not that jerk. It was real easy to hate him, when he was sticking his nose into their business all the damn time, but this? This took the fucking cake. Hell, it took the whole fucking  _bakery._ One side of Duck's family was named Stern - his mom's side, if he remembered correctly - but every time he saw that man he felt the exact opposite of familial and friendly. He just... set his teeth on edge.

"He followed us here," Ned said, glancing out the window. "That rat bastard's been onto us the whole time, ever since he got into town - and here we are, droppin' a solid lead for his case right on his doorstep." Audrey nodded. Her eyes were hidden behind those damn sunglasses, still, but Duck could feel the panic radiating off of her in waves.

"So?" Duck demanded. "What're we gonna do, just wait for him to leave?"

"Well," Ned said slowly, "I was plannin' on... you know, goin' out there, distractin' him, maybe scare him off with some snowballs, who knows -?"

"He's not going to go away," Aubrey said quietly. "He's got - y'know, government types, they never quit."

There was a story behind that, Duck was sure, but now wasn't the time to chase that. Indrid made a soft snuffling sound, and the blanket mound convulsed a bit as he got more comfortable. Duck sat down on the arm of the sofa, watching him. Indrid was definitely shivering, now. There was a mug of frozen-solid nog on the coffee table. "Christ alive," he muttered, staring at it. West Virginia winters were brutal. They couldn't - _he_ couldn't - just leave him here, when the temperatures would dip below zero tonight. Jesus, why couldn't Indrid just live at the Lodge like normal folks?

"Does anyone else know we're out here?" he said. The walls felt like they were closing in. Aubrey heaved a silent sigh and stared at a suspicious stain on the carpet.

Ned raised his gloved hand. "Mama knows we're here," he said. "I had to borrow her truck, remember? She didn't seem so hot about us goin', but it wasn't like she could do anything to stop us."

Outside, it was growing dimmer. Duck knew that the sun would be setting, and with every passing minute the temperature would dip lower and lower until it got so cold, you could spit and it'd be frozen solid before it hit the ground. Almost too cold for survival.

Unconsciously, he put his hand on Indrid's blanket mound again. "Aubrey," he said.

She looked up from the nog stain on the carpet, her glasses sliding down her face.

"See if you can... uh, set fire to something that won't burn the whole trailer down," he said. "We'll just have to wait 'im out."

"Wait 'im out? What do you -"

"Eh, he's a coast boy," Ned said, waving a dismissive hand. "He's not cut out for mountain winters. I bet you my Lincoln that he'll be gone before the sun goes down."

"Ned, your Lincoln's been totaled," Aubrey sighed. Ned gave her a placid smile and turned away, pretending to scrutinize the wallpaper. When it was clear that Ned wouldn't respond, Aubrey wrinkled her nose and pulled off her winter gloves, revealing her white ones underneath. "Indrid?" she said, coming over to the couch. She stubbed her toe on the coffee table and swore, and the frozen nog mug skittered across the table. "Damn it. Uh. What am I allowed to set on fire?"

* * *

Night fell like an anvil. Duck could feel the shift in the air as the sun disappeared below the horizon; the dark beyond the iced-up windows was solid, tangible, absolute. It felt as if the shadows would grow teeth and try to tear the camper apart to get to them. And if their experiences in Kepler were any indicator, that was something that could absolutely fucking happen.

Aubrey had piled a bunch of old sketches and newspapers on the coffee table and lit them up; she did something funky with her fingers that made the inferno hover above the table in a controlled ball, radiating heat without setting anything else on fire. The fire seemed to be helping; Indrid had struggled to a sitting position, and a bit more of his face was poking out now. Flames flickered in his glasses. The smell of damp wool was returning to the camper, as Aubrey's flames warmed the air, and it almost felt like it used to in here. The smoke from the burning papers was making Duck’s eyes hurt, but it still felt better than before.

But Ned was still by the window, peering out into the trees. And Aubrey's fingers were starting to shake. They couldn't keep this going forever.

Duck had moved to sit next to Indrid, when the man had found the strength to sit up, and was watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye. Indrid had stopped shaking, but every now and then a shiver would roll through his entire body, so strong that Duck could feel the couch shaking. And now he could hear sniffles, too, which was definitely bad. They had to get him out of this damn camper as soon as possible: back to the Lodge, to a warm bed, with some broth and nog and every space heater they could rustle up.

Duck opened his mouth to speak -

"No," said Indrid, voice muffled.

Duck frowned.

"Sorry," Indrid said softly. He drew the blankets closer and blinked at Duck. "You were going to ask if I knew this would happen, and sadly -" He yawned, the sound lost in the blanket wrapped around his face. "Ooh. Pardon. Anyway, I nearly foresaw this, but the scene flashed by me so fast that I barely glimpsed it, before other... visions, and things, filled my mind."

"Huh," Duck said dumbly. "Any... uh. Care to share what you saw?"

Indrid slowly raised one white, feathery eyebrow. Like a moth's antennae, Duck thought wildly. "Mmm, nope," Indrid said, and his eyes crinkled in a smile that Duck could not see. "No can do."

"O'course, that's what I thought," Duck muttered. Indrid let out a weak chuckle and turned back to the fire.

After a long silence, broken only by the crackling fireball before them, Ned cleared his throat. "Okay, he's gone," he said curtly.

Aubrey straightened up, and almost lost control of the sphere of flame before her. It dipped dangerously close to the coffee table; the laminate wood started to bubble. "What? Really?" she said, dumbfounded. "You can see out there? I thought it was too dark to -"

"Agent Mulder out there has a flashlight," Ned drawled. "I saw 'im leaving. Here's to hoping he gets eaten by a 'bom-bom' on his way back to the Lodge."

"Please don't condone murder, Ned," Duck said wearily, and stood up from the couch. Next to him, Indrid lurched into the empty space he left, a bit off balance. "A'ight, are we heading out now?"

"Yeah, unless you wanna stay here all night," Ned said. He gave the soggy, lukewarm interior of the Winnebago a faintly disgusted look. "Not a fan, personally. No offense, Mr. Cold -" He stopped, and chuckled. "Mr. Cold. Heh. Man, you're just a little fuzzy bundle of irony, aren't you?"

"Ned, don't be an ass," Duck said sharply. Ned was his friend, but sometimes the man could be a downright jerk when he was antsy. "Alright. Indrid, we're going to take you back to the Lodge, alright?"

On the sofa, Indrid froze, and slowly leaned back into the cushions. He said nothing.

"Indrid, c'mon, you have to," Duck said. "It's gonna be below zero tonight, you're not gonna be safe out here. You'll freeze to death if you don't-"

But Indrid kept leaning back, and back, and to the side, until he was lying down on the sofa again in the spot Duck had vacated. Aubrey stared at him; the fireball drifted close to the table. "Watch the fire," Ned said, alarmed. "Hey, hey, okay, Mothie boy, let's get you out of here. Can you stand?"

There was no response. It was as if Indrid had fallen asleep again. Unease prickled along the back of Duck's neck, and he knelt down next to the sofa. "Hey, Indrid, you alright?" he said softly. "Indrid?"

"Is he okay?" Aubrey whispered.

Behind his glasses, Indrid's eyes were closed.

The wind howled. Duck reached out, paused, and pulled the blankets aside. His fingers skimmed across Indrid's cheek, and the skin beneath was cold and clammy, even through his gloves. But he was breathing - quick, quiet breaths, too quick, too quiet, barely there and frigid as the air around them, and he was like a block of ice under Duck's fingers -

"Insects don't do so good in the winter, do they?" Aubrey said softly.

Duck gritted his teeth. "Yeah, understatement of the fuckin' year, Aubrey," he snapped. Aubrey shrank away. He yanked his gloves on, and started gathering whatever blankets he could find that had slipped off the blanket pile. "Someone get the door," he said.

"What -"

"Get the fucking door, Ned Chicane, I swear to Christ -"

Ned scuttled towards the door like he'd been singed, and yanked it open. Whatever warmth left in the camper practically evaporated, as a frigid blast of snow-laced wind slammed through the doorway. Duck cringed away from it and turned his back to the door, picking up whatever blankets he could and wrapping them around Indrid's body. It was easier than he thought it would be, and that worried him; Indrid was so light that Duck could nearly lift him with one arm. Aubrey threw the fireball out the door and into the snow, and immediately started helping Duck wrap Indrid in blankets.

"C'mon, c'mon, we don't have all day," Ned said loudly. "I can't hold this door open forever -"

"Bet," Duck snapped. He looked out the door at the blowing snow, and back down at Indrid. Even with nearly ten blankets wrapped around him, he was shivering slightly, his eyes still tightly closed. Duck yanked his fur-lined hat off his head and pushed the blankets around Indrid's head away. His soft, wispy hair was mashed down and greasy. Duck jammed the hat onto Indrid's head, straightened his glasses, and pulled the blankets back on.

"We good?" Aubrey said.

"We're good," Duck confirmed. He made sure the blankets were secure - Indrid looked like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, bundled head to toe - and scooped him up in his arms. "Okay, let's go."

"I never get any thanks around here," Ned huffed. Aubrey punched him in the arm on her way out, and for a moment, Duck saw Ned's gruffness fall away - under it all, the older man was worried, just like the rest of them, and seeing that, Duck couldn't bring himself to be mad.

"Thanks," he said honestly, and maneuvered himself and his precious cargo out the door.

The trail from the Winnebago to Mama's truck was longer than Duck remembered. It stretched off into the distance, and it was all that he could do to stop himself from breaking into a dead sprint. Indrid was dead weight in his arms, completely still and silent, save for the occasional cough. He didn't want to risk slipping on the snow and dropping Indrid, so he forced himself to walk slowly and surely.

Aubrey didn't have those same reservations. She sprinted ahead through the snow, fire flickering on her fingertips, peering around trees with her hand lifted above her head as if Agent Stern - the douchebag - was hiding behind one of the trees ready to pounce. A few times she nearly let a fireball loose into the trees, but caught herself. Thank God. Duck was technically off duty right now, and didn't have the time to mobilize the fire department. Indrid was far more important right now.

Suddenly Indrid started coughing - great hacking coughs that made his entire body fold up like a Swiss army knife, and Duck almost dropped him. "Indrid!" he gasped. "Jesus Christ, Indrid, you okay?"

No answer - just muffled, guttural coughs, as if Indrid was choking on something and had to get it out. His body was shaking so hard that Duck lost his grip on Indrid’s legs. He reached for Indrid's face and pulled the blankets away so he could get some air.

"Sounds like pneumonia," Ned said, behind him.

"How do you know, you're not a doctor!" Duck said wildly, whipping around to glare at him. Nervous sweat was freezing on his scalp, like cold fingers running through his hair. "You don't -"

Ned shrugged. "I've known people who had it," he said offhandedly. "I'm old, this stuff is common knowledge 'mong people my age." Duck looked down at Indrid again, now well and truly terrified. Indrid was now gasping for breath, his lips pale and bloodless. His breath barely fogged the air in front of his face. Duck was nearly frozen with indecision - he could pull the blankets up over Indrid's face again, to keep him warm, but that would cut off his air supply... and that was the last thing they needed -

"We're here! We're here!" Audrey's voice echoed off the trees, the sound making Duck's head hurt. "Ned, where are the keys?"

"On it!" Ned said loudly, starting to jog. Now Duck could see the snow-covered outline of the truck, partially illuminated by the jets of flame coming off Aubrey's hands. She was trying to melt the snow off the windshield and windows. He appreciated that, he really did, but that was just going to make them ice up. He heard Ned tell Aubrey as much; Aubrey's chin jutted out defiantly, and she turned to the windshield again. White-hot flames shot out of her hands, and Duck had to look away.

When he looked back, though, the whole front half of Mama's truck was bone-dry; all the snow had evaporated. "That'd do it," Ned said feebly, and unlocked the truck's doors.

* * *

Duck drove.

It killed him to do it. Almost literally. Mama's truck was old and the headlights were dim, and the dirt road leading out to Indrid's neck of the woods was wiggly as a seismograph. Several times he almost skidded right off the road, or hit a pothole so hard that everything in the car rattled.

It didn't help that he kept looking in the rearview mirror to check on Indrid.

They had the heaters on full blast, so hot that Duck was practically dissolving in his own sweat, but Indrid was showing no signs of getting better. He was buckled in tight in the back seat, the seatbelt digging deep into his blanket cocoon. Ned sat next to him, arms crossed, glaring out the window. Every time Duck glanced in the rearview mirror, Ned gave him a slightly disappointed look, and hissed, "Eyes on the road, buckaroo." Or at least that's what he thought he said. Everything was rattling around in the car so much that Duck could barely focus.

Indrid let out a soft, shuddering sigh and sank deeper into his blankets. Duck's eyes lingered.

Then they hit a pothole.

Again.

In the passenger's seat, Aubrey yelped and grabbed the passenger door like it was a life preserver. "Christ on a fucking crutch, Duck!" she said.  "Watch it!"

"Yeah, watch it, loverboy," Ned grumbled, his words almost lost in the rumble of the tires on the bumpy road. Almost. Duck flipped him off over his shoulder. "Don't you know anything about safe driving?"

"Don't you know anything about not being a pain in the ass?" Duck muttered. Aubrey gave him a sympathetic look and rubbed his shoulder. He was so tense that her touch was almost painful.

"Just lookin' out for ya," Ned said. "If you pull in and the rims are dented on this thing, Mama's gonna have my head -"

" _Your_ head?" Aubrey repeated incredulously, turning around to stare at him. "Ned, why - Mama's not as obsessed with cars as you are, she'll be fine!"

"I just don't want her to be mad at me!"

"It's not about you all the time, Ned," Duck snapped. He squinted through the blowing snow at the road ahead. He hated to say it, but Ned was kind of right; hit a pothole the wrong way, and they could lose a tire. He had to focus.

Ned scoffed. "Well, pardon me, then, -"

Indrid took a deep breath. Everyone in the car fell silent. And as if drawn by magnets, Duck's eyes drifted to the rearview mirror again.

A pale, shaking hand slipped out from the blankets and freed his mouth. "Please," Indrid whispered hoarsely. In the hot car, some of the color had finally returned to his face; his lips were still pale, but not as pale as before, and Duck had to tear his eyes away. "Please just... settle down," the man said. "Don't talk so loud. I'm getting a headache from hearing you yell at each other again."

Aubrey looked at Duck. _Again_? she mouthed. Duck shrugged. "Time shit," he whispered.

Audrey's eyes widened slightly, and she turned back to Indrid. "Sorry, Indrid," she said quietly. "We didn't mean it."

Indrid laughed quietly. Not even a laugh, more like a short breath, like a last bit of air escaping a balloon.  It was almost lost in the roar of the truck's heaters. "I was mostly talking to Ned," he breathed.

Duck snorted.  In the rearview mirror, he saw Indrid's eyes slide to his. "Fair 'nough," he said. "Sorry 'bout that, Indrid, just sit tight for a bit longer. We're almost there." Indrid's lips twitched in a small, wry smile. "Guess you won't be Indrid ‘Cold’ for long."

Indrid laughed again, a bit louder this time. "I should hope so," he said. Duck smiled and returned his eyes to the road. That was a fucking dumb joke, but God, it felt good to make Indrid laugh.

In the passenger's seat, Aubrey had a hand clamped to her mouth as she stared out the window. Duck glanced at her. "Now what," he said flatly.

"Nothing," she squeaked. It looked like she was holding back giggles.

"What is it," Duck said.

" _Nothing_!"

"It sure is somethin', you're tryin' not to smile - what's so funny?"

A couple of sparks shot out of Aubrey's fingertips, and she burst into laughter, now covering her mouth with both hands. In the back, Ned started gently ramming his forehead against the window.

* * *

The Amnesty Lodge was surrounded with a halo of light; a fire crackled in the hearth inside, and the lamps outside shone brightly on the Lodge's rugged exterior. When they'd left to visit Indrid, Jake Cool-Ice had been shoveling the driveway with Dani, and their shovels were leaning on the porch railing; the driveway was surrounded by heaps of shoveled snow, and there were a few snowballs scattered among them.

As Duck pulled up to the front of the Lodge, the door swung open, spilling golden light onto the porch, and Mama and Barclay came out. Mama looked relieved that they'd come back intact, and so did Barclay, who waved at Ned through the window; Ned fired off a snappy salute and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Aubrey shoved the car door open and ran around the front of the car, nearly slipping on a patch of ice, and began demanding something from Mama that Duck couldn't quite hear. The smile dropped off Mama's face.

Duck turned off the car, tossed the keys at Ned without checking to see if he caught them, and went around to the other side of the car to get Indrid. In the last stretch of the drive, Indrid had fallen asleep again, his breath short and wheezy in a way that made Duck nearly sick with worry.

He pulled open the car door. Indrid was still asleep; the blankets had loosened slightly, and now most of Indrid's pointy, sharp face was visible. His glasses had nearly slid off his face. Duck reached out and gently pushed them back on. His fingers lingered on the glasses' rims, making sure that they would stay put. Indrid's breath was faint but warm against the inside of his wrist.

He reached into the truck and gently lifted Indrid from the seat, one arm hooked under his knees and the other supporting his back. Indrid shivered as they left the warm car, and he burrowed slightly into Duck's shoulder. Duck froze and looked down at him.

It was different, somehow. Definitely different, this... protectiveness. It wasn't quite brotherly instinct, nothing like how he would feel whenever his sister Jane would get sick. Back then he knew that she was strong, and would pull through. But with Indrid...

Perhaps it was just strange, seeing Indrid helpless. The man should have seen this coming; he  _should_ have, if his future-sight was anything to be believed. Was something wrong with him? Was there something much worse going on? Indrid was usually so capable and composed - a bit of a disaster, sure, but he knew how to survive. He knew how to live. Something had changed.

Duck knew what that was, now. It wasn't just protectiveness. It was fear.

"Duck!" Ned said.

His friend's voice was curt, anxious. "Get over here," he demanded.

"Right, sorry," Duck called out. "Sorry," he said again, softer, when Indrid cringed away from his voice and turned his face into Duck's chest. "I'll be quieter."

"Thank you," Indrid breathed, and coughed quietly, pulling the blankets up to his chin again. Duck's mouth settled into a grim line, and he shut the car door with his foot and joined the others.

Mama stood there with her hands jammed into her pockets, shuffling about to keep warm. "Duck, honey, who've you got there?" she said gently, frowning at the bundle in his arms. "What happened?"

Duck opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't really find any words. "It's Indrid," he said at last.

Behind Mama, Barclay went white. Mama's mouth fell open.

"We went to chat with him, see how he was doin', and we found 'im sitting in the cold all by himself," Aubrey said quietly, glancing over her shoulder, up and around. Duck almost told her to stop; watching her was giving him a headache. "He - Mama, his generator ran out of gas, or froze up, or something -"

Indrid sniffled, but was otherwise silent.

Mama didn't speak for a long while; her face was in shadow, and Duck couldn't see what she was thinking, but a series of emotions were flickering across her face - and not all of them were good. "Oh," Mama said. "Poor thing." Something about the way she said that made Duck hold Indrid's body a bit closer.

"Mama," Barclay began.

"Not now, Barclay, hon," Mama said, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on Indrid, who was refusing to turn and look at her. "Well," she said at last. "Better bring Indrid inside, get 'im warmed up. He sick?"

"Sicker than a dog on a roller coaster," Ned said, striding up the stairs.

"Lovely image," Barclay muttered.

"Thank you. He might have pneumonia," Ned went on. "He was out there for two days by himself, no heat or anything."

That made Mama wince. "Oh, oh no," she said, placing a hand on Duck's shoulder and gently steering him towards the front door. "Duck, sweetheart, get him inside and warmed up. Barclay -"

"I'll rustle up a room for 'im, if we have one," Barclay said. He nodded at Duck, gave Mama a long, troubled look, and strode into the foyer.

They went up the stairs and through the door; Duck walked carefully to keep from banging Indrid's head on the doorframe. "And you're a hundred percent sure that he didn't come back?" Ned was muttering to Aubrey.

"That's what Mama said, yeah," she said. "Stern never turned back up." _Stern_. Hearing the man's name made Duck's stomach turn a bit, but God, it was a relief to know that the bastard hadn't come back. He couldn't find it in himself to be worried about the FBI agent at all, and frankly, he didn't give a damn.

But just to be sure, he looked over his shoulder again.

Mama was leaning on the hood of the truck, staring out into the night; her gaze traveled far beyond the ring of light surrounding the lodge, into the deep, dark shadows beyond. "Mama?" he called out.

She didn't look back.

"Leave 'er," Barclay said. Duck looked back; the man's eyes looked strangely haunted by something, and he felt unease thread through his heart again. "She's... just got some stuff to think about, Duck. We - we haven't seen your buddy the Mothman 'round here in... hell, not in a couple decades. She'll come in when she's ready."

Behind them, the wind howled, and the shadows beyond the light grew thicker. Duck shivered slightly and followed Barclay down the hall.

"So," Barclay said, as they went down the silent hall. The rug was so soft and thick that it absorbed their footsteps, like the moss carpet of a forest. "Ned."

Ned glanced up. "Hm?"

"You said he might have pneumonia?"

Ned made a noncommittal noise and wiggled a hand. "Meh, I'm no doctor, but I think he might," he said. "I've got a hunch about this. Maybe I was a doctor in a past life, you never know."

Barclay laughed once.

Ned went on. "Whatever the case, the guy was stuck in a cold trailer for two days, in below-freezing weather, with only blankets for warmth. And he was hacking up a storm, too, on the way in."

Barclay hummed thoughtfully. He paused in front of one room, changed his mind, and started leading them to another hallway. His hands clenched and unclenched, the knuckles white. "Might just be hypothermia," he said. "Out in the cold for that long, that's bound to do that to ya. 'Specially if you're not used to it -"

"Um. Yeah, sorry to interrupt, but... do you know why Indrid even lives out there in the first place?"

Aubrey's question made Barclay pause, in the middle of searching through his key ring. "Uh." He cleared his throat. "Well, that's, uh... not for me to say," he said awkwardly. "That's really Indrid's business. Hm. Is this the key?"

"I wouldn't know," Aubrey said, frowning slightly.

Barclay noticed his mistake and jerked away, shuffling the keys at a much faster pace. "Sorry, sorry," he said, and jammed a key into the lock. Duck and Ned looked at each other. "Okay - get him in here."

The door opened on a small but cozy room, with its own fireplace and a log-framed bed in the corner piled high with folded blankets. A door stood open at the foot of the bed; through it Duck could see a large claw-footed bathtub, a toilet and a porcelain sink. It all smelled faintly of pine needles and snowboard polish. An empty Mountain Dew bottle peeked out from under the bed.

"Damn it, Jake," Barclay muttered. He grabbed the bottle and tossed it in the trash can; it vanished as it hit the bottom, and Duck blinked. Sometimes this place seemed so normal that he forgot nearly everything was magic. "We, uh... Jake uses this room sometimes to warm up, when he comes back from the woods. Gets mighty sick when he spends days out in the backcountry, snowboarding and goofing around and what-have-you. Kid never really cleans up..."

"Nah, it's fine, don't worry about it," Duck said politely. He shifted Indrid slightly in his arms; even though the man was thin, his slight weight was starting to make his arms tired. "Could somebody, uh -"

"On it," Aubrey said brightly, advancing towards the fireplace. It was stacked high with logs, which she quickly set ablaze. The wave of heat rushed over them, and Ned breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He started shucking off his coat and gloves.

"Ned, bed, if you wouldn't mind," Duck grunted.

"You'll have to be nicer than that if you wanna get me in -"

"Oh, shut up, you nasty old man," Aubrey said loudly, throwing a blanket at him. Ned cackled and started moving the folded-up stacks of blankets.

They made a sort of nest on the bed to lay Indrid in, since he was already swaddled like a baby in ten or eleven blankets. Duck gently lay him down, being careful with his head. Indrid looked so small and frail in the blankets, with just a bit of his face peeking out. He tugged a glove off and laid it across Indrid's forehead, the fur from his hat tickling his fingers. Damn, he was still cold as a block of ice.

"Didja check for frostbite?" Barclay said suddenly.

Aw, balls. Ned and Aubrey glanced at each other, alarmed. "That can happen?" Aubrey said. "But I  - I thought he - doesn't that only happen if you touch snow -?"

"Well -"

Duck talked over Barclay, already unwrapping Indrid from the blankets. They all smelled faintly of nutmeg and dust. "It can happen if you get too cold," he said. One of Indrid's hands emerged; he seized it - cold, cold, still too _fucking_ cold, good grief - and turned it over, inspecting it for any damage. "Below freezing will do it. And it's been..."

"Hell," Ned said softly. "It's been below _zero_ every night for almost a week now -"

The tips of Indrid's fingers were a dark, rosy pink. Fuck. Duck tugged off the last layer of blankets and swore loudly. Under all that, Indrid was just wearing a pair of plaid sweatpants and a ratty, stained white wifebeater. What the hell was he thinking? Did he - did he even have any other clothes?

"Ohhhhhh, jeez," Barclay said, aghast. "Uh. Fuck. Damn it, Duck, you're trained in first aid, aren't you?"

" 'Course I fucking am, what kind of park ranger would I be if I wasn't?" Duck snapped. God, now that he was looking at Indrid without all the blankets, he knew how bad this was. Indrid's fingers, ears, and bare toes were a dark yellowish-pink - and that was another thing: where in Satan's great flaming asshole were Indrid's shoes?! This man was a fucking disaster...

"Sorry, sorry!" Barclay said, raising both his hands defensively. "Just sayin'! I don't - I don't always know what to do 'bout these kinds of things! What's the best way to fix frostbite?"

Now that the blankets were all off, Indrid was shivering again, hunching in on himself and trying to stay warm. God, Duck's chest was starting to hurt. "Get 'im warm, I guess," he said, trying to think back to his first-aid training. "Uh -"

"We could throw him in the bath."

Duck stared at Ned.

Ned stared right back. "C'mon, hot water'll defrost this mothboy right away," he said.

"Moth _man_ ," Duck muttered.

"He's got a point," said Barclay. "That hot water comes right from the springs out back, it'll do him wonders." Indrid started to cough again - those hacking coughs again that made him lift slightly off the bed from how strong they were.

"Yeah, but -" Aubrey started, and stopped. Her face flushed slightly.

"Just strip 'im down and get him in a bubble bath," Ned said. His lips were twitching.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Duck glared at him. "Shut up."

Barclay's eyebrows were creeping up, as he looked between Ned and Duck. "Wait a minute-"

"Not you too, Barclay, I don't want to hear a single word out of _any_ of you!" Duck snapped. The back of his neck was starting to heat up, and not from the raging fire in the fireplace. "I'm gonna - I'm -"

"You're gonna handle this," Ned said warmly, patting Duck on the shoulder. Duck fumed. "I'll go get some tea from the kitchen, alright? Barclay, wanna come with? I'm sure you know your way around the kitchen a lot better than I do... wouldn't want to mess anything up -"

"Yeah, alright," Barclay said. He headed straight for the door. There was a glint in Ned's eye that Duck didn't like in the slightest; he looked like he was going to try to get something out of Barclay, but Duck hadn't the foggiest what that would be. Ned walked out the door, wiggling his fingers in a cheerful wave, and slammed the door.

The sound made Indrid lurch and clamp his hands over his ears, groaning. He curled his legs up to his chest and kept shivering, his breaths sounding guttural and choked. "Ooooookay, that's not good," Aubrey said feebly.

"No shit," Duck said. "Uh -"

"I can -" Aubrey swallowed. "I can, uh, go, if you're gonna handle this. I wanna talk to Mama 'bout something anyway -"

"Oh, sure, yeah, absolutely, go ahead," Duck said hurriedly. He waved towards the door. "I got this - I got it handled."

"Okay, good luck," Aubrey said nervously, and scuttled out the door. She was careful to close it softly behind her. Thank God for Aubrey's common sense.

And then there were two.

Indrid's hands shakily lowered from his ears. "You all were... very, _very_ loud," he wheezed.

Relief washed over him, to hear Indrid's voice. "Sorry," Duck said. "God, I - shit. We haven't exactly been real hospitable, have we."

"No, no - it's... okay," Indrid said hesitantly. "I..."

"Are you -?"

"Feeling any better?" they said together.

Indrid's lips twitched into a small smile. "A bit, yes," he croaked. "The warmth... helps."

"That's good."

"I can't feel my feet."

"That's... not good."

"No shit," Indrid said. "I heard -" He coughed slightly, his breath rattling up from his lungs. "Ooh. That hurts."

"It _hurts_ ?" Duck said, alarmed. Now that was definitely not good, not good at _all_ \- he hated to say this, but Ned might've been right about the pneumonia. They definitely had to get him warmed up.

"A bit, yes," he said, and pushed himself up on his elbows. His arms shook. Duck reached out to help him up, and Indrid clamped a hand around Duck's upper arm. His grip was surprisingly strong, though his fingers were frigid. "I heard about the bath," he breathed. "That sounds... good, right about now."

"Oh. Yeah." That warmth was back, creeping up the back of his neck. "Can you -"

"- get there by myself?" Indrid said, the words overlapping with Duck's. He laughed slightly - more of a wheeze, but it was still a laugh, and that was good. "Yes, I - I think I'll be fine."

Using Duck's arm, he pulled himself up, and despite what he'd said he still needed to lean heavily on Duck's shoulder to stay upright. Indrid's knees were shaking. Before he could stop himself, Duck looped his arm around Indrid's waist and helped him to the bathroom. God, he was a block of fucking ice. It was so horrible that he'd been left in that campground, all by himself in the cold for God knows how long. And nobody had even known. Nobody had even thought to check on him. Mama and Barclay had been so surprised when they'd heard his name, as if they'd...

As if they'd forgotten he'd existed.

Duck's arm tightened around Indrid's waist. Christ.

They made it to the bathroom without any complications. "You can handle yourself from here, right?" Duck said awkwardly, once Indrid let go of him and leaned against the sink.

"Yes..." Indrid coughed a couple of times into his elbow, his arm shaking slightly, and looked into the mirror above the sink. Duck could see the reflections of reflections in those glasses, as if black holes had opened up in the lenses and were leading down into his eyes. Duck's own reflection was in there somewhere, pale and nervous and just a bit afraid. "It'll be alright," Indrid said to his reflection.

"Uh. Good. Okay, I trust you to run your own bath," Duck said, backing towards the door. "Don't -"

" - make it too hot," they said together.

"Oh, I won't," Indrid said, with a soft grin. "No, I - I know that much. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

He waved idly towards the door. Duck nodded once, swallowed, and backed out of the door.

In the bedroom, the fire was still going strong, the logs crackling and popping and sending little sparks up into the sky. Duck slowly sank down onto the edge of the bed and stared into it, his elbows on his knees. The eggnog smell from the blankets was nearly overwhelming, now. Water started running in the bathroom; a snow-laced gust of wind blasted the window, the flakes skittering agianst the glass. He swallowed once and kept staring into the fire; as he watched, a log in the fireplace fell apart into ashes and embers, sending sparks flying up the chimney into the night.


	3. Ginger Tea and Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *john mulaney voice* hi i'm very gay i would like ~~a few dollars~~ some validation
> 
> i was gonna update on saturday but fuck the police, i have a wifi connection for two hours and my laptop and i will use it to its fullest goddamn potential

_January 19, 2019_

_Amnesty Lodge_

_11:02 p.m._

The kitchen was dead quiet at this time of night.

Ned stood in the doorway, hands on hips, and whistled softly between his teeth as he looked around.  Truth be told, he would probably need Barclay's help for real to find the tea; there were a lot of cabinets and a whole bunch of drawers, and the place looked like some kind of rustic IKEA showroom. He himself just jammed his groceries wherever there was space - made it a little more fun to hunt things down. This place was surprisingly organized, though. That took all the fun out of it -

Barclay cleared his throat behind him.

" 'Scuse me, Ned," he muttered, and gently tapped him on the shoulder. Ned scooted out of the way as the massive man squeezed past. Barclay headed right for a cabinet next to the microwave and rummaged through to the back, stacking boxes upon boxes of tea on the counter. It looked like someone had dumped the entire tea section of a Costco in there.

Ned sauntered over and spun a couple boxes around to read them. Mostly boxes of regular old store-brand black and green tea, with some Bigelow boxes mixed in: Earl Grey, Perfect Peach, Orange & Spice. Huh. "Bet that tastes great," he said, tapping the Orange Spice box. It made a hollow thumping sound. "Never had it m'self, more of a, uh..." Lost for words, he looked at the next box over. "...peppermint? Person. Heh."

"God rest your soul," Barclay muttered. He pulled a box of lemon-ginger tea from the cupboard. "That stuff tastes like diluted mouthwash.” Ned grimaced. “Try the peach, add a little sugar - that stuff's _good."_

"Oh, you like tea?"

"Most of this is mine, yeah. Do me a favor and get some ginger root out of the fridge, will ya? Bottom left drawer." Ned went digging in the fridge for the root, watching Barclay out of the corner of his eye. The man's broad shoulders were stiff and hunched, and he put an inordinate amount of care into each step of preparing the tea, as if deviating even slightly from the pattern would make his head explode. He filled a kettle with hot water and put it on the stove with a bit too much force, sending some water sloshing out of the spout.

Hm. Ned went for the bottom drawer - the thing was about half-full of enormous knobbly ginger roots, bigger than both his hands put together - and snapped off a couple smaller chunks. "So," he said casually. He held out the gnarled root to Barclay, who took it and started rummaging around in a drawer for a knife. "How 'bout that, uh. Mothman. Crazy, huh?"

Barclay’s hand clenched, and crushed the ginger root to a pulp.

They both stared at the crushed plant in his hand; bits of ginger juice dripped out from between his fingers. "Aw, beans," Barclay muttered, dropping the thoroughly mangled root on the countertop. "Beans. Sorry, I -"

" 'S alright," Ned said nonchalantly. "Looks like you had a little bit of a monster mash, there, Barclay."

He expected Barclay to laugh - and he did, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit as he smiled.  Still not a full smile, which was a shame. "Yeah, guess I did," said Barclay. "That, uh..." He reached up to awkwardly scratch his neck with the hand covered in ginger mush, cringed, and quickly went to wash his hand. "Gah. Man, y'all have all the tough questions for me tonight, don't ya."

He sounded disgruntled and tired, and Ned felt a little bad. "Okay, maybe so, but we got a lot of 'em, to be fair," he said, leaning against the countertop. "Didn't exactly get the... warmest welcome, when we came back here. Seems a little strange, is all."

Barclay fished some of the less-mangled bits of ginger out of the sad, sad pile, and started chopping them into wide pieces. "Yeah," he said softly. "Well. We just haven't seen ol' Indrid around here in a couple decades. Just a bit of a surprise, that's all."

"Cut the bullshit," Ned said firmly.

Barclay's eyes lifted to his.

"Listen, I know bullshit when I smell it," Ned began.

"Because you're full of it," Barclay muttered.

"Because I'm full of it," Ned agreed. "And I know you might not wanna share everything right off the bat, but just for the record: thought you fellas would be a bit more, you know... _hospitable_ to a guy with hypothermia and frostbite who'd been out in the cold for two or three days. But you really weren't. The hell was all that about?"

Barclay just stared at him for a long, long while, in a way that made something cold settle in Ned's stomach. At first he thought that Barclay was angry at him, but no - there was something there that went a hell of a lot deeper. Ned wasn't even sure that it was anger at all. "Some business is our own, Ned," Barclay said softly, "and for all your preppin' and posturin', there are some things that you're never going to understand."

They looked at each other again, there in the dark kitchen. The kettle started to whistle. They blinked, and broke away from each other; Barclay dumped some of the chopped-up ginger in a mug and poured the boiling water over it with slightly-shaking hands. "So," he said evenly. "Aubrey said Stern was out there watching you folks. Care to tell me 'bout that?"

That had to be the least subtle subject change Ned had heard in his entire life. But he knew Barclay wasn't going to give him anything else from here on out. "Well, we don't know much about that, I'm afraid," he sighed. "Guess he just... followed us out to Indrid's camper, and tried to stake us out."

"Hmph. Not good," Barclay muttered. He threw a bag of lemon tea in the mug and gently stirred it, watching the bits of ginger swirl about in the water.

"I'll say - wait, hold on," Ned said, leaning towards him and trying to look him in the eye. He didn't succeed. "I thought you hated Indrid, Barclay -"

"Oh, I don't," Barclay said. He nudged the leftover ginger and the mug of tea to the side and leaned on the countertop as well, looking Ned dead in the eye. His eyes glinted. "Let me make that very clear - I do _not_ hate him," he said firmly.

"Body language is saying otherwise, my good sir," Ned said.

"You can shove that," Barclay said with a bland smile. "I've got no problems with Indrid. I got a history with him, and so does every soul still livin' at this lodge, but I've got no problems with him. Indrid's a good man, just -  he's just... he's got a - "

He huffed and ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand on end. "Maybe I'll tell you later," he said softly, almost to himself. "Just. You know, Stern - he came here after you -"

"Posted that video, yeah. I'm still sorry 'bout that."

"No you're not."

"Maybe so."

"Yeah. Stern came here after he saw that video, and - well, he knows 'bout this place, and he knows 'bout Indrid, but we don't know just how _much_ he knows. Indrid's another loose end that needs to be tied up, and Lord knows what Stern's gonna dig up on him."

Ned hummed thoughtfully and reached for an opened box of Earl Grey, fiddling with the open flap. The stuff smelled pretty good; maybe he'd brew up a cup of the stuff. "Yeah," he said. "That's... an issue."

"Ya don't say. When I get the chance," Barclay said, "I'm gonna head out to Indrid's place and lock it down with some Sylph magic - he's probably got a few things in there for security purposes, but you never know what this Stern fellow might have up his sleeve. He might dig up somethin'... well. You never know."

"No," Ned mused. "You never do."

There was a brief silence. "You're thinking 'bout something," Barclay observed.

"Mm-hmm."

"That's not good."

"Your faith in me is astounding," Ned drawled.

"Your last 'bright idea,'" Barclay said, making quote marks with one hand, "ended in you nearly getting eaten by a demon bobcat in the woods while you were wearing a Chewbacca costume -"

"Hey, I've had better ideas since then -!"

"- which makes my level of faith in you _completely_ reasonable," Barclay said over him.

"Well, thanks," Ned said.

He sidled around Barclay and poured some hot water into his mug, taking an inordinate amount of time to ensure he didn't spill a single drop. Barclay impatiently tapped his fingers on the counter. Ned dropped in the teabag and carefully rummaged around in a nearby cupboard for some sugar packets. "You wouldn't happen to know where Mama keeps the Splenda, do ya?"

"That stuff's bad for you," Barclay said tersely. "Causes cancer."

"That's been disproven, my good sir. Besides, I'm here for a good time, not a long time -"

Barclay groaned and covered his face. "Just tell me the damn idea, Ned," he said into his hands. "I need to -"

"No, no, if you're not gonna help me, I'll just look for the Splenda myself," Ned said nonchalantly. He'd actually spotted it on the same shelf as the teabags, but made a show of going to the exact wrong side of the kitchen and looking through the spice rack. "Hmm, I thought I saw it around here somewhere..."

There was a long, raspy sigh, a rattling sound, and a sharp _thwack_ as a box of something hit the counter. Ned grinned. "Here, you sanctimonious bastard," Barclay grumbled. "C'mon. Spill the beans. I need to know if I should tell Mama to get ready for damage control."

Ned spun around and grinned. "Thank you, dear," he said sweetly. Barclay flicked the slightly dented box of Splenda over to him, stubbornly glaring at a spot just over Ned's head; he fished a couple packets out and dumped them in.

"Here's what I was thinking," Ned said in a low voice, leaning against the countertop next to Barclay. "We need to get Stern out of here, right?"

"Agreed," Barclay said.

"And he's a government-type, Men In Black, spook-in-a-suit with a stick up his ass, right?"

"A bit harsh," Barclay said.

Ned ignored him. "Well, I've got a, uh... bit of an in, shall we say," he said. Barclay opened his mouth - "No, that does not mean that I've learned how to hack the Pentagon." Barclay closed his mouth. "Got ya, didn't I? Well, I just so happened to memorize the full name on Stern's badge..."

"Uh huh..."

"And with a couple of quick searches, I just might be able to dig up some dirt on the guy," Ned said, grinning.

Barclay just blinked at him for a couple of seconds. "And here I was worried that the idea would actually be good," he said.

"Shut up."

"Ned, he's a government spook; they probably wiped his internet trail to keep him from being looked up, just like you're thinking of doing now!"

"Google's not the only source of information in the world, you old fart," Ned said. Barclay shifted and grumbled something that sounded like "Right back at you," though Ned couldn't be sure. "It's been wiped out a bit, but sometimes you can just hear a bit of an accent in there. I'd say he's not from the coast originally - maybe a bit further west."

"Ned -"

"West Virginia, perhaps."

_"Ned -"_

"I'm just saying, there are ways!" Ned exclaimed. "If he's from around here, maybe I can look through state records. I got an old buddy who stayed on the straight and narrow all these years - she works in the state capitol, she might be able to look him up."

"Hmph." Barclay crossed his arms and stared at the spice rack for a while, lost in thought. Ned watched him with a peaceful smile. At last, he looked back and said, "And what do you suggest we do with what we find?"

Ned grinned. "Hold it over his head, of course," he said mischievously. "And who knows, if we find something really bad, we can always send it along to the FBI, and see how that goes in the, uh... job retention department."

"Badly. It will go badly," Barclay said flatly.

Ned chuckled and gently elbowed Barclay in the side. "That’s the idea, Barclay," he said warmly.

"No, I meant for us - seriously, if you get that information illegally they will know, and they'll turn that on you. Thought you'd know better than that, Chicane."

"Cut me some slack here -"

There was a soft tapping on the door. Aubrey stuck her head through, and peered around the dark kitchen. "Ned? Barclay, you in here?" she called.

Ned thought of staying quiet, just to fuck with her; she was still wearing those damn sunglasses indoors, of _course_ she couldn't see them. Barclay, though, said, "Yeah? What's up, Aubrey?"

She stepped all the way into view; her arms awkwardly hugged her stomach, and she didn’t quite meet their eyes. "Uh - have you seen Mama around, by any chance?" she asked.

"Not since we came in," Barclay said. Ned nodded, even though Aubrey probably wasn't able to see him. Barclay sighed and picked up Indrid's mug. "Aubrey, this is just a suggestion, but you might not wanna go huntin' her down just yet," he said softly.

"Why not?" Aubrey said. "I just - she's been out there for a while, I dunno if she's okay, or what, but -"

"Aubrey, she's had a bit of a night," Barclay said. "We all have. It's..." He looked at the clock on the wall and winced. "Criminy. It's almost midnight, you might wanna get to bed -"

"But -"

"Aubrey," Ned said. "It really is getting late -"

"That's not stopping you, you're drinking Earl Grey," Aubrey said. "That's got a bunch of caffeine, you know." When Ned opened his mouth to protest, she sighed and waved a hand to stop him. "No, no, alright, fine," she said. "I'll call it a night. Duck's watching Indrid, anyway, he's holding down the fort there. You can just drop off the tea, Barclay, I'm sure they won't mind. G'night."

And with that, she shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall. Barclay watched her go. "Odds are she's gonna go hunt down Mama anyway," he sighed.

"Yeah, well, kids. What can you do," Ned said, sipping his tea. Barclay went to the kettle to top up Indrid's tea with hot water. "So," Ned said to his back. "You in?"

Barclay's shoulders heaved in a huge, resigned sigh, and he headed for the door. "Yes, Ned, I'm in," he said wearily. "Only because it seems like you'll be doing all the work. I'm not getting my hands dirty."

"O'course, o'course. Just checking."

Barclay paused on his way out of the kitchen. "Y'know," he said thoughtfully, "I thought you were tryin' to step off that path. Get back on the straight and narrow, and all that. You still doing that, or...?"

Ned just smiled and sipped his tea. "There's always an exception to the rule, Barclay," he said secretively. "Stern's a pain in my ass. I want him gone just as much as you do, you know."

"Join the club," Barclay muttered. He backed out of the kitchen and eased the door closed. "Alright, I'm gonna call it a night after this. G'night, Ned."

"See ya, Barclay," Ned called through the door. He lifted his mug in a toast that Barclay wouldn't be able to see. "Here's to being partners in crime, eh?"

"Go to bed, Ned," Barclay called through the door. Ned listened to him head down the hall to Indrid's room and smiled, shaking his head. Oh, this would be fun.

* * *

The doorknob rattled softly, and the bathroom door squeaked open. Duck glanced over his shoulder and saw Indrid’s head poking through the door: tousled towel-dried hair with dark roots, and those thick red glasses, now completely opaque with fog. His face was slightly flushed. “Duck?” he said, his voice still thin and raspy.

“Yeah?” he said. God, it was just so _wrong,_  hearing him that quiet.

Indrid coughed softly and paused. His long-fingered hand gripped the door frame a bit tighter. Then he muttered, “I... seem to have dropped my shirt in the bathtub.”

Duck snorted. “Aw, that’s too bad,” he said. “Thing looked like it was mostly made of nog stains, anyhow, so I guess -”

“It’s for the best, yeah,” Indrid said, their words overlapping. He chuckled softly and stepped all the way out; he was still wearing those ratty plaid sweatpants, but his shoulders were draped in a massive, slightly-damp towel the size of a blanket.

That wouldn’t do. Looked comfy, but it wouldn’t do. “Indrid, I’mma need you to get that towel off real quick,” Duck said, wandering over to the closet.

Indrid was silent for a while. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what?” he said faintly.

“Towel, off,” Duck ordered. He opened the closet and whistled softly; it was full to bursting with incredibly tacky but soft knit sweaters, the kind his dad used to wear at Christmas. There were a handful of long-sleeved T-shirts and stuff near the back, and he grabbed one that looked like it was Indrid’s size. “That thing’s damp, and you’ve got a cold - you don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Hmm. I suppose so,” Indrid said. The door squeaked again, and Duck heard something large and heavy land in the hamper. “Kobe,” he said, with false enthusiasm.

Duck snickered and turned around. His eyebrows flew up, and the sweater he’d chosen nearly fell out of his hands.

Indrid’s back was to him, skin bare and slightly damp; the firelight gleamed on beads of water on his shoulders. At first Duck thought it was a trick of the light - the fire rippling in odd patterns, perhaps - but the closer he looked, the more he realized that Indrid’s back was mottled with scars. Odd things, these scars: small round circles up his spine, spaced evenly, and continuing up the line of his neck; Duck almost thought he saw thin white lines on the skin between his ribs, curving around like a second rib cage, and he realized that he had never really seen Indrid turn his back to them...

Indrid turned, and the moment was gone. “That is an… incredible color,” he said slowly.

Duck looked down. He was holding a long-sleeved shirt the color and brightness of a brand-new road work sign. “Oh,” he said feebly. “Oops.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Indrid laughed. He came forward, hunched over slightly, and took the clothes from him. Even with a slight slump to his shoulders, he was easily taller than Duck by about half a foot. “I knew you would pick them, I just… didn’t expect them to be quite this bad.” He pulled the orange shirt on over his head, moving stiffly and wincing the whole time.

“You alright?”

“Yes - bit stiff, kinda sore,” Indrid said. He turned his head and coughed into his elbow, shoulders hunching up to his ears. It was a deep, rattling cough that made Duck’s own lungs ache in sympathy. Behind Duck, there was a sharp _pop,_ and a squeaking noise like rubbing Styrofoam as another log crumbled. The light grew just barely dimmer.

Shivering slightly, Indrid shuffled towards the bed, rubbing his chest with one hand. “You still cold?” Duck said. “I can get you a sweater if you’d like.”

Indrid sniffled and crawled into bed. His limbs sprawled about like scattered pick-up sticks, but he curled in on himself and took the blankets with him, turning into a bundle of cloth with a sharp face and glasses. “I’ll live,” he croaked.

“I hope so,” Duck said, and Indrid smiled weakly.

The room was quiet, with only the crackling fire and soft howl of wind breaking the silence. The blankets rustled as Indrid shifted, nestling deeper into the cocoon. Some of the blankets were still damp from the snow, and that set Duck’s teeth on edge a little bit, but there wasn’t exactly anything he could do about it. He slowly sat back down on the edge of the bed, watching the snow come down outside. The wind howled slightly, but in a peaceful, distant way. No massive flakes came swirling out of the sky; no bone-deep chill settled into the room. Duck shifted and rubbed his shoulder, unconsciously, remembering tackling Leo out of the way of the Pizza Hut sign.

That was over. The monster was dead and gone. Everything was okay.

“That was wild, wasn’t it,” he said quietly.

For a moment, Duck thought that Indrid had fallen asleep; he was dead silent. Then the blankets rustled again, and Indrid’s face emerged. “What was?” he said, with a puzzled frown.

"C'mon, don't tell me you don't remember," Duck laughed. He turned towards Indrid. "That whole mess wrapped up... what, two, three weeks ago? Before Christmas?"

"Hm," Indrid said. The man's eyes were half-closed, like a contented cat's, but his face was marred by a soft, confused frown. "It's almost February..."

"Yeah," Duck said. "So? Wasn't that long ago. Thought you'd remember that whole mess, with Billy and the goats and the -"

"Yeah," Indrid said sharply.

Duck blinked. Behind his glasses, that pensive frown had deepened into something troubled. When he spoke, his voice was still tense - maybe even a bit confused. "It... it was. That. Huh."

"Indrid, you alright there?" Duck said slowly.

Indrid visibly paused, and looked off towards the fireplace. There was a long, tense moment of silence, during which so many emotions flickered across his face that Duck could hardly keep track of them. His pale, feathery eyebrows - so much like moth antennae, Duck thought, and immediately crushed that thought - twitched nervously.

"Cold notwithstanding," he said faintly, "I don't think so…”

He sighed thoughtfully and scratched his nose. “Tell me something, Duck," he said, staring into the fire. "This is going to..." He trailed off, coughed a bit, and continued. "This is going to sound strange, but just hear me out."

"What?"

"How many days has it been since your last visit, Duck? The - the last time the three of you went to my Winnebago?"

Duck opened his mouth, closed it, and thought back. "Well," he said slowly, "we try to come down every week..."

"I've noticed," Indrid said. "That's very kind of you."

"Yeah, no problem, uh... yeah, so last Saturday, I think, was when we first stopped by. A week ago. Does that..."

Indrid was nodding.

"...help any...? Indrid -"

"Yes," Indrid said softly, almost to himself. He sniffled, his mouth tightening into a sour line, and stared at a point in the distance, eyes just barely out of focus.

"Indrid," Duck said softly. "Indrid, my man, what's going on?"

There was a long, drawn out silence, during which Indrid did not meet Duck's eyes. One of the last logs crumbled to ash in the fireplace, leaving nothing but glowing coals. "Duck," he said quietly, "I'm going to need to ask a favor."

He turned to Duck, then, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose - and at this angle Duck could see his eyes, open and unshielded. Indrid's eyes were a strange shade of hazel, almost reddish in hue, and there was something deep down in those eyes that made his heart stop. Something grim, unsure, and just a bit - a bit - afraid. And it was that brief flash of panic he had, looking into Indrid's eyes, that made him say what he did.

"Anything," he whispered.

Oddly enough, Indrid seemed surprised to hear that answer; he straightened a bit, a slight wrinkle between his brows, but he did seem happy. As happy as he could be, in this moment, slightly frostbitten and cold and wrapped in enough blankets to keep an army warm. He said, "I need -"

And the door swung open.

Barclay came through the door holding a massive, steaming mug of tea; Duck's nostrils twitched as a blast of lemony-ginger steam drifted across the room. "Hey there, fellas," he said bashfully, waving his free hand. "Got some tea for ya... Indrid, you feeling any better?"

"Slightly, yeah," Indrid said, drawing himself up in bed. He cleared his throat hard a couple of times and wiped his nose, which was starting to look a little red. "What's that - oh, tea? That's nice, thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," he said. He passed the mug to Indrid, who wrapped his long bony fingers around it like it was his last lifeline to this earth. "Glad you're doing better - you need anything else, give me a holler and I'll do what I can."

"You're sure?" Indrid said quietly.

Barclay nodded. "I'm sure."

Indrid blinked. It was almost as if he hadn't expected Barclay to be serious. Duck sensed something deeper there, something that he didn't quite understand - but then he remembered walking into the lodge, and Barclay being the only soul still awake in the Lodge who tried to help them. He shifted on the bed, the mattress's springs creaking, and did his best to make his shoulders relax. Barclay was... something. Something good, he hoped.

"I'll keep the others off your tail 's long as I can," Barclay said in a low voice.

"Is Dani...?"

"Yeah. Remember, she answered the phone that one time -?"

"Oh, right. Hm."

"Indrid, you sure you're gonna be fine... here?"

Indrid nodded and took a cautious sip of tea. The gingery steam rolling off of it went straight into Duck's lungs, making his throat burn. That had to be some strong stuff. "We'll see," he said vaguely. "I..." His next words seemed forced, as if he was saying them for Barclay's benefit. "I see things going well. There might be a few changes, but Duck -"

He startled when he heard his name. "Hm?"

Indrid was smiling slightly at him. "Duck's holding down the fort pretty good here," he said, and took another sip of tea. Duck felt something bloom in his chest, like he himself had just drank something warm, and smiled, looking at the floor.

"Well, good," Barclay said warmly. He backed towards the door. "Alright, guys, I'm gonna turn in. Duck, you wanna... uh, you wanna stay in the Lodge for the night? The roads are pretty - pretty gnarly out there -"

"Believe it or not, I noticed," Duck said dryly, and Indrid laughed softly. "I, well - I got a cat back at my place, gotta check on her 'n make sure she's doin' alright."

"That's fair," Barclay said. "Okay, well, g'night, you two. If Aubrey comes around here, tell her to go to bed."

"Will do. See ya, Barclay." Barclay waved over his shoulder and left, gently closing the door behind him.

The moment Barclay disappeared from sight, the smile was wiped off Indrid's face, and he set the mug down on his lap. "Duck," he said, not blinking. "Before I - before I forget."

"Yeah?" Duck said.

"Get me a notebook, as soon as you can," Indrid whispered. "And a pen. Something with lines."

"Y'sure? That's not - well, not really good for sketchin' -"

"It's not for that."

"What -"

"Duck, please, just do this for me and I won't ever ask anything else ever again," Indrid said - almost pleaded, really. "Okay - okay, that's probably a lie, I might ask you for a hell of a lot more, but Duck, I need something to write in."

"Oh. Okay, well... I can grab you some stationery from -" Indrid shook his head. "Oh. Well, I can get you a notebook, then."

Indrid nodded, and his shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a massive burden had been lifted from them. "Good," he said, almost to himself. "Good, good..."

He closed his eyes and took a deep, slightly wheezy breath; he almost immediately started coughing, and the tea in his lap started sloshing around. "Shit, here," Duck said, alarmed, and scooted towards Indrid, lifting the mug from his lap. Up close, it smelled even more of ginger and lemon. God bless Barclay; he'd added bits of real ginger root to it. The man really knew what he was doing. Duck couldn't have done it better himself -

Indrid cleared his throat, and made grabby hands at the mug. "Sorry, here," Duck said, passing it to him.

"'S fine," Indrid croaked. He bent over the mug and took a deep inhale, before taking an even bigger sip. "So. Duck. Try and get me a notebook soon, please?"

"Yeah, for sure," Duck said. Indrid wasn't - damn it, Indrid wasn't looking at him again, and that set his teeth on edge for some reason. If there was anything Duck was good at, it was helping people - at least, that's what Ned and Aubrey said - and he really wanted to make sure that Indrid was okay, but he was at a loss for what to do. Indrid wasn't giving him anything, which was unusual, even for him.

"Indrid," he said, trying to sound casual. "What do you need the notebook for?"

Indrid's shoulders went still. "Duck -"

"You can tell me," Duck said softly, scooting a bit closer. Indrid's eyebrows twitched up. "Indrid, I just wanna make sure you're okay. If you don't wanna tell me, I get that, but I just wanna help you as much as I can, alright?"

"I know, but..."

Indrid suddenly glanced up, looking over Duck's shoulder. Duck turned around, and thought he heard floorboards creaking outside the door - but there was nothing after that. Indrid was silent for a while, but then Duck heard him set down the mug. "Okay. Duck." he said quietly.

Duck turned back to face him.

Indrid looked at him without blinking. "I'm going to be honest with you, and I do not want you to go blabbing this around," he whispered.

"Wh -"

Duck didn't even have time to finish, before Indrid talked over him. "Duck, I - I asked you about when you last visited because I. I can't -" He sighed sharply, and his knuckles grew white where they gripped the mug. "Duck, I can't remember."

The breath rushed out of Duck's lungs.

"I can't remember when you last came over, Duck, and I can - I can feel things slipping," Indrid whispered, his voice starting to shake. Duck stared, horrified; this Indrid, this man sitting before him, was such a polar opposite to the Indrid he'd known that he was honestly starting to get scared. "I don't know if it's because I'm sick, or because I'm tired, or if it's - it's something else, but I honestly can't remember half of what happened this week."

"Indrid -!"

Indrid's face twisted into something panicked. "Shhh!" he hissed. "Duck, hush. Please, just. Get me that notebook, and come back, because I'm going to need to pick your brain."

"You what?"

"Your memory's not being affected, right?" Indrid demanded. "You don't have any weird gaps, or - or times when you just... couldn't remember what you came into a room for, or anything?"

"...Well, no, I don't think so -"

"Good," Indrid said over him. "Because my mind is - Christ, Duck, my mind is looking like Swiss cheese right now, and I could really use your help. Please."

And Duck... All Duck could do was stare. Through the haze of his cold, Indrid was growing frantic, eyes wide and unfocused behind his glasses. Something... Things just - things just weren't adding up - "Indrid," he whispered. "What the fuck is going on?"

Indrid said, shaking his head, "Duck, I honestly have no idea."

The floorboards creaked again. Duck turned around again, and said, "Aubrey, go to bed -"

Indrid grabbed his arm. "No, no, shh," he said. "It's just the Lodge settling. This place is kinda old."

"Yeah, but -"

"Duck," Indrid said, softly but firmly. "You need to get home. It's past midnight."

"But -"

"Duck," Indrid said again.

They glared at each other, in obstinate, stubborn silence. Finally, Duck sighed and stood up. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "You just. Hang tight, okay? I'll be back tomorrow with a notebook and a pen and shit, and I'll tell you 'bout everything you might've missed, okay?"

"Please do," Indrid said. His lips twitched in a faint smile.

"Stay warm."

"I will." Indrid opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, but stopped short. "I will," he said again. Duck smiled at him and opened the door -

\- and came face to face with Dani.

"Oh," he said feebly. "Uh - hi, Dani, what're you -"

Her mouth twisted in a sour line, and she turned around. "Bye, Duck," she said tersely, and swept down the hall. Duck stared, open-mouthed, as she turned a corner, her blonde hair swirling in her wake. Aubrey detached herself from the shadows at the end of the hall, gave Duck an apologetic grimace, and charged after her. All Duck could do was stare at the now-empty hall.

"Huh," he said.

* * *

Aubrey tripped over her snowboots and almost crashed into the wall. "Dani - Dani, wait!" she said fiercely, trying her best to keep her voice down. "Dani, what's going on -?"

Dani stopped in front of the door to her room, and sighed heavily, not turning to look at her. "Aubrey," she whispered. Her voice was shaking slightly. Each word was slow, deliberate, and... and almost venomous. "Why is Indrid here?"

"Right, right, you weren't..." Aubrey cleared her throat. The Lodge's main room had been empty when they brought Indrid in, and Dani had only come out once Indrid was in his room. "We went out to check on him, like we do every week, and his generator'd run out of gas - he was freezing to death in there -"

And Dani laughed - a sound that was short, sharp, and without humor. It made something strange twist in Aubrey's chest. "Really," she said softly. "That's strange, I thought he would have _seen_ it coming." And she shoved open the door to her room.

"Whoa, whoa, that's - that's a little harsh, Dani, are you okay?" Aubrey said nervously.

Dani froze in the doorway. One long-fingernailed hand dug into the wood of the doorframe. Her shoulders were shaking. "No," she croaked. "Aubrey, I -"

She turned around for a second, and Aubrey caught her breath. There were tears gleaming in Dani's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, and slammed the door.

Almost immediately, Aubrey heard someone walking towards her down the hall - slow, deliberate steps, that comforted her slightly to hear. "Aubrey, hon, what're you doing out of bed so late?" said Mama.

Aubrey turned. Mama was standing a couple feet away, her leather duster caked in snow and snowflakes sprinkled in her hair. "Hi, Mama," Aubrey said quietly. She tilted her head towards Dani's now-closed door. "Dani's not feeling so good -"

Mama nodded, her face soft and understanding. "Oh, yeah, poor girl," she said, half to herself. "Aubrey, why don't you run along, I'll talk to her a bit, okay?"

"Yeah, but -"

Mama gave her a look. Aubrey shut her mouth. "Dani doesn't like Indrid all that much," Mama said quietly. "She has a bit of a family history with him that's... not so good. 'S not my job to tell you, she'll tell you 'bout it when she's ready -"

"Oh, they knew Indrid?" Aubrey blurted out. That was - Dani had only told her a few things about the family she had back in Sylvain, her brother and parents. Man, Aubrey would love to meet them someday, if they were somewhere in Kepler. Dani was really cool; whatever family she had was probably the same way.

But Mama heaved a great heavy sigh, and started tugging her leather gloves off. "They did, yeah," she said quietly. Without another word, she gently tapped on the door, listened for something that Aubrey couldn't quite hear, and went in. Aubrey stood in the dark, silent hallway, staring at the door yet again, with more questions rattling around in her head than she'd ever had before.

Inside the room, Dani started to cry. Aubrey reached for the doorknob, paused, and forced herself to slip back down the hall to her room.

* * *

The fire hissed and popped, its sparks flickering on Indrid's glasses. He sipped at the dregs of his tea, straining the bits of ginger with his teeth, and watched the logs crumble down to ashes. That bone-deep ache he felt in his ribs was starting to fade, but it came back with stabbing force every time fire flickered on the walls. He gathered the blankets tighter around him and pressed into the corner where the bed met the wall, staring at the flickering shadow.

Indrid set the mug down on the nightstand. He wished he had that journal, now.

Outside, something howled a single, mournful note into the wind. Indrid's hand tightened around his orange crystal. The other drifted up, unconsciously, and rubbed his suddenly-aching neck - tracing the old scars without him knowing it.

There would be no sleep for him tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment on the way out! or, if tumblr is your preferred method/you want some grade a TAZ shitpost content ~~that i mostly reblog~~ , hit me up at my tumblr, [@taako-waititi](http://www.taako-waititi.tumblr.com). come scream with/at me about anything at all, really, i love hearing from you guys. thanks for reading!


	4. In Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to all known laws of content creation, there is no way that i should be able to churn out back to back chapters. my motivation is too small to get the story off the ground. but i, of course, write anyway, because i need to get the ideas out of my head before it explodes.

_In the dream he is cold._

_The world chills him, in a way that digs deep down into his chest, red and raw - in a way that coaxes frost from his very soul. All-encompassing, absolute. He squeezes his eyes shut, and opens them -_

_There are flashes in his vision. Hands, fire on glasses - knives, black with slick blood - a whispered name that sickens him to hear - teeth and lips, not his own - seven sweaters in a closet - pain, pain, fire, and he turns in the endless dark, spiraling down, as cold fire rushes down into his lungs -_

_A hand reaches down from the dark._

_Fire flickers above, but muted, as if through rippling glass. There is a high, drawn-out wail - a tone, almost, a slow and mournful song that chills him deeper and deeper, and he opens his mouth to speak. A name surges up from behind his teeth as he stares at that hand, but he does not know it, he cannot say it, even though he knows that hand like he knows the face who owns it,_

_and he reaches up,_

and Duck Newton opened his eyes.

In his sleep, he had gathered the blankets close, and was curled into a ball beneath them as if he'd been socked in the gut. He was shaking, and there was a sour taste in his mouth like cold steel. The last glimmer of fire he'd seen in his dream glimmered before him, but he blinked a few times and it faded away.

But was it a dream?

Duck sat up, one hand rubbing his chest, and took a deep breath. Cold air rushed into his lungs, all too like the cold that had swirled around him in that dark, formless space. His visions were always - well, visions: vague, fragmented, with no meaning to them until the event they foretold came to pass. As the months wound on, though, they became more definite. Like someone had fiddled with the antennae to the TV set of his mind. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe it wasn't, but either way, Duck hated it.

He hoped to God it wasn't a vision. It was the wrong time for visions, anyhow: the abominations came out once every other full moon, and he wasn't expecting one for a couple more weeks.  God, he hated them. He ran a hand over his face, ignoring how there was throbbing behind his eyes and how his fingers were just barely shaking. His mind was still unbalanced; the haze of sleep, plus the adrenaline of the dream, mixed in his bloodstream and made him nauseous.

But through all that, he could focus on only one thing: he knew that hand. The long-fingered, slender hand that reached down to him, like one of a fickle deity come to rescue some dumbfuck in a Greek play. He knew it. But in that dream, or vision, or whatever the fuck fate had decided to throw at him that night - in that dream, he could not assign a name to it. And now that he was awake - well, hell, he had no idea either.

Something moved in the kitchen.

Duck froze. He slowly reached out to his bedside table, where Beacon lay coiled by the alarm clock, and grabbed his hilt.

There was silence. Then Winnie let out a hiss and a yowl like a broken radiator, and something shattered. In an instant, Duck was up and out of bed. The blankets tangled in his legs, though, and he let out a garbled yelp as he fell to the ground. Beacon let out a muffled grumble, and slowly unfurled his blade. "Duck Newton," he said, in that sick, sleazy voice full of marbles, "your... _ineptitude_ surprises me yet again -"

"Shut up, it's go time," Duck hissed, and untangled himself from the blankets. Beacon, surprisingly, shut up and extended all the way, his blade like shadowed obsidian in the pitch-black night. Duck pressed himself against the wall, holding Beacon in front of his face, and peered into the kitchen.

The full moon was starting to wane, and a shaft of clouded moonlight shone through the slightly dirty window. Duck's eyes swept the kitchen; the shadows lay thick in every corner, but the moon gleamed dully on the shards of a broken glass on the floor. And standing completely motionless on the windowsill, her hair poofed out in every direction and her face pressed to the glass, was his cat Winnie.

"Hey," he whispered. "Hey. Psst, Winnie."

She didn't respond. The tip of her tail twitched. Duck lifted Beacon into a more defensive position and slunk forward into the kitchen. The broken mug's shards gleamed like teeth, and for a brief moment Duck almost pointed Beacon at them, convinced that the floor was about to eat him -

Winnie started to growl.

"Shh, shh, hey," Duck whispered, reaching for her. "What's out there, girl, what do you see?"

His cat pressed her face even further into the glass, the growl growing deeper in her throat. Duck lay a calming hand on her back; she flinched wildly away and snarled at him. "Jesus, Eowyn," he said, alarmed.

"Feral mongrel," Beacon muttered.

Winnie spat and smacked the tip of Beacon's blade, with her claws out.

"Hey, no," Duck warned. He looked over Winnie's back and through the window, still holding Beacon aloft, and frowned. There was nothing in the street outside - just snow, trees and clouds, with a waning gibbous moon hanging in the stars like a watchful eye. "Huh," he said quietly. "Nothin' there, Winnie, 's alright." Winnie, unconvinced, looked out the window again, her tail lashing back and forth.

"Might I suggest," Beacon began.

"You may not."

 _"Might I suggest,"_ Beacon said again, but louder, "cleaning up the broken mug on the floor?"

Duck looked down, and shuffled away a bit. The ceramic shards were a bit too close to his foot for comfort. "Yeah, fuck it," he muttered. "Thanks for looking out for me, Beacon."

"My pleasure," Beacon said.

He somehow made the word sound so oily and gross that Duck physically shuddered. "I'll put you down the garbage disposal if you say that word ever again, Beacon, mark my words," he said. He set Beacon down on the counter, and rummaged under the sink for a small broom and dustpan.

"You wouldn't dare," Beacon said above him.

"I'm literally staring at the garbage disposal right now," Duck said, tapping its housing unit with the dustpan. "Try me, just fucking do it."

But Beacon seemed to know that his luck was running out, and remained silent; his blade slowly coiled, until he was resting in a neat circle on the counter. Duck knelt on the floor and began to sweep up the shards. Up on the windowsill, Winnie gave the world beyond one last dark look, hopped down, and swatted Beacon to the ground, before leaping off the counter and moseying off into another room.

When the glass was swept and thrown away, Duck stood in the moonlit kitchen for what felt like an eternity. He found himself drawn to the window once more, to the dim light streaming down and the clouds slowly moving among the stars. The street below was empty as a scarred eye; looking at it too long, at the snowdrifts slumped in corners like bloodless corpses and the flickering streetlights, made Duck's head start to hurt again.

He checked the clock in the corner. 4:19 in the morning. Some distant ridiculous corner of his hindbrain forced him to watch the second hand circle around until the minute hand ticked to 4:20 - and when he caught himself watching, he let out a short, soft laugh. "Nice," he breathed, and went to make some chamomile tea.

* * *

Later, when the tea was drunk, and the mug dried and put away, Duck drifted back to his bedroom with Beacon coiled in his hand. Winnie had made a nest for herself in the scattered blankets, head tucked completely under her body - the events of a few mere moments ago completely forgotten. Duck sighed and stepped around her, putting Beacon back on the nightstand, and sat on the edge of his bed.

"You dreamt, did you not."

Duck's head whipped around.

Beacon unfurled slightly, metal grinding on metal, and that disgusting mouth of his pursed thoughtfully. "It seems," he said slowly, "that a vision must have come to you, Duck Newton."

"What do you know?" Duck said, wrinkling his nose. "Good grief, you've been locked in a damn display case for twenty-odd years, how'd you know 'bout visions?"

"Enough," Beacon said. He had no eyes, but still seemed to stare directly at Duck; the light from his alarm clock's LCD display gleamed on his hilt. "I know... enough."

And his blade tightened once more, and Beacon fell silent. On the floor, Winnie let out a soft purr and curled deeper into the blankets. Duck glanced between the two of them, then at the clock - which now read 4:32 - and slowly lowered his head into his hands. He just knew that he wasn't going to be able to sleep again tonight.

* * *

Aubrey slept fitfully that night, and woke feeling like a bucketful of sand had been dumped into her eyes. Sunlight flooded her room  through the open curtains; she muttered a couple of curses and turned over, mashing a pillow into her face. Melting snow dripped off the eaves and hit the ground below. The sound reminded her oddly of the clapping at the start of "Mr. Sandman," and as the thought slipped through her brain, she groaned into the pillow. God. She'd hardly slept at all last night. Mr. Sandman could kiss her ass.

She took a deep breath, about to sigh, and paused. Someone was cooking - pancakes? She reluctantly pulled the pillow off her face to get a better whiff. The smells of cooking breakfast hit her like a truck. Aubrey threw the covers aside, put on some slippers, and slid across the wooden floor to the door. Fuck sleep - she was _hungry._ The smell of bacon was nearly killing her.

When she opened the door, though, she saw the door to Dani's room across the hall twitch, almost as if someone had opened it a bit and then quickly closed it. Aubrey paused in the doorway. "Dani?" she said uncertainly.

No answer; no sound. Not even footsteps. Aubrey took a breath, feeling something in her chest constrict, and slowly shuffled down the hall to the kitchen.

The sound of things frying and boiling assaulted her ears the minute she stepped in, and her stomach growled furiously. There were a couple of stacks of pancakes plated up on the counter, and the Mr. Coffee in the corner was sputtering away. In the pan on the stove, a whole bunch of sausages were frying, and a saucepot of... something was boiling away on the back burner. It looked like Barclay was pretty busy.

Well. If Barclay was there, that is. There was nobody else in the kitchen.

The pan of sausages started to smoke, and Aubrey cautiously peered in. "Uh... Barclay?" she called.

From the pantry, a voice called, "Hang on one sec'! I'll be right out!"

"Yeah? Your sausages -"

"I know, I know, I'm comin' -"

The smoke started to thicken. Aubrey cautiously moved towards the stove and turned down the heat. The sausages popped, and she flinched away with a small _eep._ "Barclay?" she said towards the pantry. "Your sausages are burning  -"

There was a muffled clang in the pantry. Barclay practically fell out of the door, tossed a bottle of sriracha sauce onto the counter, and rushed towards the pan, swearing under his breath the whole time. He snatched up a plate and scraped the sausages onto it; they were only slightly blackened along one edge. "Jesus," he muttered. "Sorry 'bout that, Aubrey, good morning."

"Good morning to you too," Aubrey said, eyeing the bottle of sriracha. "Uh... looks pretty good."

"Thanks," Barclay said, trying to dislodge a last sausage from the pan. "Help yourself to some pancakes. Want anything on 'em, or...?"

"Nah, I'll handle it - uh - what's the sir - sra - uh. Siree -"

"Sriracha?" Barclay said patiently. "Aubrey, you're not thinkin' of puttin' that on your pancakes, are you? That's just gross."

"Yeah, no, I agree," Aubrey said. "No. Ew.  Just curious, what's that for?" Barclay nodded and looked over at the saucepot, opening it up. It looked like soup, with pale translucent noodles, chicken, some veggies, and a bunch of chopped jalepeños in it. "Ooh," she said, leaning over to get a better look. "Is that pho?"

"Got it in one," Barclay said, a bit surprised. "Had a cousin over in Oregon who got this recipe off some locals. Real good stuff, if you got a cold. Indrid's gonna need some spicin' up if he's gonna get over this cold." He grabbed a bowl from a cupboard and dumped the soup in; some of the pungent broth sloshed over the sides. "I'm gonna run this down in a few, I think he got up a couple of minutes ago - heard 'im coughing, and figured he'd need a little something -"

Slow, solid footsteps approached, and Mama stuck her head into the kitchen. "G'morning, Aubrey," she said warmly, giving her a smile. Aubrey waved. "Barclay, how's it goin'?"

"It's goin'," Barclay said, grabbing the sriracha and squirting some into the soup. "Help yourself to some pancakes, I got more'n enough -"

"Actually, Barclay," Mama said hesitantly. She cleared her throat. "Barclay, we need to have a chat 'bout something real quick.”

Barclay blinked. "Oh, okay," he said. He glanced at the soup and nudged it towards Aubrey. "Aubrey, would you mind running that down to Indrid for me?"

"Oh - yeah, sure -"

"Thanks," Barclay said, giving her a quick grin, and followed Mama out of the kitchen. Aubrey heard them walking down the hall, gave the pho a glance, and slunk after them without even thinking about it. They walked quite a distance away, and Aubrey could barely hear their voices. She pressed her ear to the door.

"You're headin' out there today?" Mama was saying.

"Sure, why not?" Barclay said. "Sooner rather than later, I mean - Stern ain't back yet, right?"

Mama gave a long sigh. "No," she said wearily. "He just... never turned back up, I guess. Despite my reservations 'bout that Agent Mulder-lookin' fella, I gotta say, I'm a bit on the worried side."

"That's fair."

"Mm. Indrid doin' okay?"

"Doin' as well as you might expect - still coughin' up a storm, but otherwise okay. 'S not like him to. Well."

"Well what?"

"Was gonna say, it's not like him to forget to check his generator."

Mama was silent for a while. "Suppose not," she said softly, so softly that Aubrey could barely hear. She mashed her face a little closer to the door, trying to hear. "Y'know. We never did wrap that up."

"Mama -"

"'S been a couple 'o decades, but we still never really got down to the bottom of that."

"Mama," Barclay said, his voice strained. "It's been 20 years. There probably ain't anything to get to the bottom _of_ anymore -"

"That's not what Dani told me last night."

Aubrey froze.

Mama said, "Indrid's been having gaps in his memory, she says. Lost almost the entire past week. She was listening in on 'im, and - I know, I know, don't look at me like that, I didn't encourage nothin', alright?"

"I don't - that's not -" Barclay sputtered wordlessly for a few seconds. "He's what?"

"Losin' his memory," Mama said again, her voice grim.

"Mama, that don't - that don't mean anything, you know it - hell, my memory's gone half to hell these days, and I'm nowhere near how old Indrid is. He's gettin' close to the three-century mark, countin' his Sylvan days." Aubrey whistled softly under her breath. "It might not be -"

"But it might," Mama said. "It might."

They were silent for a while longer. Aubrey held her breath. "Dani's torn up 'bout him being here, isn't she," Barclay said softly.

"'Course she is, why wouldn't she be?"

"I just - I dunno, Mama, forget it. Whatever. I'm gonna head on out after breakfast and see if I can lock down Indrid's trailer, in case that Stern fellow starts sniffin' around."

"If you think that's a good idea, sure," Mama said warningly. "But keep an eye out for anything. You see anything strange, or feel like somethin's slippin' away, you turn around and come right back, y'hear?"

"Sure, sure."

"Good." There was a soft thump, as if Mama was patting him on the shoulder. "Just lookin' out for you, Barclay," she said quietly.

"I know."

"Don't want a repeat of all that, y'know."

"Yeah, Mama. I 'preciate it, I really do. I'll be careful."

"I'll hold you to that, mister. Now get on, go make sure breakfast is ready. You gonna save me some pancakes, or -?"

"No, of course not. Never would've dreamed of it." Mama let out a short, cheerful laugh, and Aubrey heard her walk away. It sounded like Barclay was on his way back to the kitchen, so Aubrey backed away from the door and picked up the bowl of soup. Damn, it was hot! She nearly dropped it on the counter - but the door swung open, and Barclay was coming through -

"Aubrey -"

"Hot, hot, hot!" she yelped, diving towards the door. "'Scuse me, 'scuse me, hot soup coming through!" Barclay let out a garbled yell and lunged backwards into the hallway, letting her through. She sprinted down the hall to what she thought was Indrid's room, the bowl burning her hands, and shouldered through the door.

Indrid was sitting up in bed, encased in blankets and sniffling a little. A mug of steaming tea sat on the bedside table; his long-fingered hands protruded from the blanket pile, gingerly holding last month's issue of _Time_ magazine. He looked up with a bemused frown. "Aubrey, what -?" he said hesitantly.

 _"Breakfast!"_ Aubrey yelled, and slammed the bowl on the bedside table. She leapt backwards and waved her hands around, cringing. "Ow, ow, ow, that hurts like a _bitch,"_ she moaned.

"Well," Indrid said hoarsely, "I appreciate you burning the skin off your hands for me! Um. Are you sure you're - oh, hello, Duck," he added suddenly, straightening up a little.

Aubrey turned. Duck was standing in the doorway, without a coat and a hat but with his boots caked in snow; he was holding a battered-looking journal to his chest and squinting bemusedly at them both. "Uh," he began. "Hi?"

"Hi, Duck!" Aubrey said cheerfully. "Good morning!" She looked again at him, noticed his dark circles and messed-up  hair, and winced. Maybe not so good of a morning, then.

Duck gave her a weary smile. "Mornin', Aubrey," he said wearily. "I, uh - sorry, wish I could talk a bit more, but Barclay's in the kitchen. He wants to talk to you 'bout something."  
  
Shit. Aubrey took a deep breath and let it out slowly, cracking her knuckles. "Oh, great," she said. "Well - okay, I'll leave you two to it, then. You have breakfast yet, Duck?"

"Nah, but I will," Duck said, and waved a hand. "You go on back to the kitchen, alright? I gotta talk to Indrid about. Stuff." Indrid nodded a couple times, smiling pleasantly at her.

"Uh huh," Aubrey said, trying not to sound skeptical. If she remembered correctly, Duck and Indrid had quite the talk last night; what else did they have to say to each other? A strange urge to say, _"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"_ bubbled up, but she bit the inside of her cheek until it went away. "...Cool. Okay, you guys have a nice talk. Give a holler if you need anything. Bye!" And she scuttled down the hallway. Behind her, Duck said something to Indrid and closed the door.

In the kitchen, Barclay was divvying up the pancakes between plates of sausages and eggs, taking a break every now and then to sip from a mug of coffee. He looked tired, just like everyone else in the Lodge, and vaguely troubled; his long hair, swept into a bun at the back of his head, was starting to come loose. "Hey, Aubrey," he said, setting down the mug to fiddle with his hair. "Your hands okay?"

"Yeah, just peachy," Aubrey said brightly. She sat down on a barstool at the counter, and pulled a plate towards her. "So you wanted to talk with me 'bout something?"

"Yeah... actually. Yeah." Barclay sighed and leaned forward putting his hands on the counter. "I know you were listenin' to me and Mama," he said wearily.

Aubrey froze, with a sausage halfway to her mouth. "...Maybe?" she said slowly.

"No, you definitely were," Barclay sighed. "There's a creaky board right by the door, I heard it squeak when you stepped on it. Aubrey, kid, how much did you hear?"

To be honest, Aubrey could hardly remember. The only thing that stood out in her mind was that bit about Indrid's memory starting to get spotty, and that Barclay was planning on going out to Indrid's camper. "Not much," she said honestly. "Why do you ask?"

Barclay coughed a little, and turned back to the stove. "Oh, no reason," he said, a bit too quickly. Aubrey's eyes narrowed. "No - no reason."

Aubrey sighed and looked down at her pancakes. If she looked hard enough, the brown spots in the top looked almost like a jellyfish. "Right," she said slowly. "But you're planning on heading out to Indrid's camper, right?"

"Yeah, sure am," Barclay said, sipping his coffee.

"Can I come?"

Barclay choked. "Why?" he said quickly, setting the mug down. "Why would you - nah, Aubrey, I, I can go by myself, it's okay -"

"No, I wanna come!" Aubrey said, looking him dead in the eye with a bright smile. The man faltered a bit. "It gets kinda boring around here - Jake's, I dunno, fucking around on the slopes, Moira's... Moira, and, uh -"

"What about Dani? And Ned?" Barclay said. "And Dr. Harris Bonkers?"

"Dani's not really talkin' to me right now," Aubrey said quietly. "And Ned's cool 'n all, but I really don't want to hike down to the Cryptonomica when the roads are this slick. And Dr. Harris Bonkers - thank you for that, by the way -" Barclay nodded seriously. "- I love him to death, but he doesn't really talk much, you know?"

"Yeah," Barclay said. "Bein' a rabbit, and all."

"Mm-hmm."

Barclay grabbed his mug, but didn't lift it; he just drummed his fingers against it a bit, staring thoughtfully at a magnet on the refrigerator. It had a jackalope on it. "Tell you what," he said suddenly. "Fine, you can come. I could use an extra pair of eyes, anyhow."

Aubrey perked up. "Sweet! When're we leaving?"

"When I'm done with breakfast," Barclay said vaguely, taking a long pull from his coffee mug. "We gotta lock down Indrid's trailer - I doubt he was coherent enough to turn on the security spells when y'all picked him up. Who knows - maybe you'll get to use some of what those folks out in Sylvain have been teaching you. Just..."

He stared down at the coffee mug, swirling it idly. "Just do me a favor, Aubrey," he said quietly.

"Hm?"

Barclay looked up at her. "If you feel anything weird happen," he said, dead serious, "you tell me right away. Y'hear? Your mind gets fuzzy, things start seeming out of place - let me the fuck know, and we hightail it out of there."

Aubrey slowly put down her fork. "Barclay, what do you mean?" He pursed his lips, sighed, and looked away. "Is it - no, the full moon's not for almost a whole other month, Barclay, it can't be a - a bom-bom. Right?"

Barclay took a deep breath and sighed, "Just be careful. Okay? Promise me you'll keep an eye out?"

He was dead serious, that much Aubrey could tell. Something uneasy settled in her stomach, and she looked down at her plate, feeling vaguely nauseous. It wasn't like Barclay to not tell her if something was going on. This whole mess was just so... so strange. She could hardly make sense of it.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I will. Two if I can spare it. Or three."

Barclay smiled slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Great," he said. "I'm gonna leave a note for Ned, if he comes wanderin' in while we’re gone, and then we'll head on out. Eat your food, Aubrey, I don't want that goin' to waste -"

"Oh, no, yeah, of course," she said hurriedly, and ate the rest of her sausages.

* * *

"So," said Duck, once the door closed behind Aubrey. "I found you a journal." He hooked a foot around the leg of the room's desk chair, dragging it over to Indrid's bed. "Is this good?" He held out the leatherbound journal, plus its matching pen.

Indrid reached out and took it, his hands running over its surface. "Oh, absolutely," he said softly, examining it. "This is... Duck, this is kind of -"

"Yeah, it was a gift," he said, sitting down in the chair. A graduation gift from his parents, if he remembered correctly. He couldn't remember if he'd ever written in it; he'd flicked through the pages when he'd found it in his closet this morning, and it didn't look like he'd ever even used it.  The matching pen - a fancy metal fountain pen, with a nib and everything - was still untouched, the ink inside fresh. "I never used it, and it felt weird havin' it in the back of my closet gatherin' dust, so... I hope you like it," he finished lamely. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

Indrid was now examining the pen. He twisted off the cap and held it up; its sharp nib glinted in the sunlight. "Absolutely," he said, a bit absentmindedly. "Thank you, Duck. I appreciate it, I really do."

"Yeah, no, sure thing, my man."

The corner of Indrid's mouth twitched. He set the pen down on the nightstand and gently stirred the soup; great clouds of garlicky, pungent steam drifted into the air. Duck found himself leaning in to get a better smell. "Jeepers, that's hot," Indrid said softly.

"Smells good, though," Duck said.

"Sure does - I'll give it a minute." Indrid cracked open the leather-bound journal, running one finger down the lined pages. He picked up the pen and tested it on the paper; a long thin line of blue ink sliced across the paper. He doodled idly a bit; Duck couldn't see quite what he was drawing, and almost wanted to lean over and check.

"So, Duck," Indrid said. "How have you been?"

Duck opened his mouth, and closed it. "Been better," he said lamely. "Had a bit of a rough night... Winnie was hissin' and spittin' at something outside, and I didn't really sleep all night..."

"That's too bad."

"Nothin' compared to you catchin' your death of cold, though," Duck said hastily. Indrid raised an eyebrow. "And all that memory shit. I'm serious, man, you got the short end of the stick here. I..."

Indrid shook his head. "A stick has two ends, Duck," he said, "which... frankly, makes the metaphor fall apart, but you know what I mean. Right?"

"Right, yeah."

Indrid coughed a little, and reached for his tea; Duck picked it up and passed it to him. It was the same lemony-ginger stuff as last night. "Thanks," he croaked, and sipped at it gingerly.

"Need anything else?"

"No, I'm good. Actually," Indrid said slowly, "now that you're here with the journal, can we. You know." He tapped the pen against the paper; the ink cartridge inside rattled. "Fill in the gaps."

A serious pall settled over the bedroom. "Right, sure," Duck sighed. He scooted the chair closer. "Where do you... uh, where do you want to start?"

"Let's start with last week," Indrid said quietly, "and work forward. The day before the last time you all came over was very clear to me, but the day itself... a bit of a blur. What do you remember of that day?"

"Well..."

Duck thought back, and started talking, and kept talking - he remembered going out to the Winnebago with Ned and Aubrey, with a couple thermoses full of French onion soup from the Wolf Ember Grill. Indrid had been in a fit of what he said was "remodeling," but what really just looked like shoving piles of laundry, stacks of paper, and half-full mugs of nog from one place to another all over the camper. They'd made room on Indrid's little half-couch, played a couple games of chess, and -

"Wait a minute," Duck said, stopping short. He narrowed his eyes at Indrid. "You let Ned and I win, didn't you?"

"Win what?" Indrid said blandly, not looking up from the journal. The corner of his mouth twitched a bit, as if he was trying to keep from laughing.

"The chess game, you goober," Duck said, scowling. "You knew exactly what our damn moves were gonna be, and you let us win -!"

"The future works in mysterious ways, Duck Newton," Indrid said loftily, waggling the fingers of his free hand in a spooky gesture. Duck smacked him lightly in the shoulder.

They worked through that day, and then the one a week before, and as far back as either of them could go until they hit the time when they'd first met. That felt so long ago, Duck realized, looking at Indrid. Even though he could remember that day like it was yesterday, it still felt like he had known Indrid for much, much longer than a month. The man seemed so familiar to him, for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

Indrid paused, the pen hovering over the paper. His glasses started to slide down his nose, and he pushed them up with the end of the pen. "I guess that's it," he said slowly.

Duck blinked. "What - was that all you wanted to write down?" he said, surprised. "I would've thought -"

"I meant that was all you could... help me with, I suppose," Indrid said. He examined the pen thoughtfully; Duck thought he saw writing on the side, for a brief moment, but excused it as a trick of the light. He would've known if his parents had gotten the journal personalized or anything. He would have known. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"It really helps a lot, what you've given me," Indrid went on, looking at his neat lines of text. "If I..." He laughed softly, in a self-deprecating way that made Duck frown. "If... whatever is making me forget things makes me forget - this, then at least I have it written down."

"Well, what about the days in between?" Duck said, his frown deepening. "Weren't those, ya know, important too?"

Indrid was silent for a long while. "Not really, no," he said. Without another word, he set the journal down and reached for the bowl of soup, which by now had stopped steaming.

And Duck understood what Indrid meant. God, he understood perfectly. He sat back in his chair and stared at the bowl of soup in Indrid's hands, just thinking. Before running into that abomination out in the woods, his life had been flatter than Kansas: nothing exciting, just the day-to-day routine of scanning the forest for trouble. And he loved that, no, he loved it wholeheartedly, but aside from that... he didn't really have anything. It was just day-to-day, until the next exciting thing came up; until the next teenagers set fires in the woods; until the next hiker got stranded on the mountain. Life came in cold, lonely waves, until he joined the Pineguard. Peaks and troughs.

Indrid was living that life, too. Duck understood that all too well.

Outside, Mama's truck started up and drove off. Indrid and Duck's gazes both drifted to the window and watched it lumber off into the woods. Indrid sighed quietly and stirred the soup, staring down at the quietly-swirling vortex of noodles. Duck watched it too. Words bubbled up behind his teeth, and he almost didn't want to say anything, but -

There was a slight downward tilt to Indrid's mouth, and his stare was vacant. Not quite there, or willfully separated from the world. He took a deep breath.

"I had a dream last night," he said quietly. Indrid's head jerked up. "A weird one."

Slowly, Indrid set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand, and reached for the journal yet again. It fell open; Duck could see their memories scrawled across the pages, in surprisingly neat handwriting, and smiled faintly.

Indrid said, "Tell me."

* * *

Barclay had to have some kind of Bullshit-O-Meter.

That was the only explanation for this terrible, no-good, horrible timing that Ned was willing to accept, because his timing was always impeccable. Always. But here he was, having trudged all the way from the Cryptonomica to Amnesty Lodge _in the snow,_ mind you, uphill both ways and so on, and this was the thanks he got. Barclay and Aubrey peeling out of the Lodge's driveway, and Barclay giving him a cheerful wave through the window, before zipping away in the truck and covering him in snow.

Incredible. There goes his partner in crime. And just when he had a plan together. Barclay must've sensed he was coming, Ned decided, and took the chance to escape before he got roped into anything. Typical. He shook his head, not feeling really angry despite himself, and headed into the Lodge.

The main room was empty, which was starting to become a trend - but that was great, because that was just the way Ned liked it. Duck's coat was hanging up on the coat tree by the door, along with his fur-lined hat, and Mama's duster was thrown across the back of a chair. Ned sighed, cracked his knuckles, and headed for the phone on a nearby side table. He had a number scrawled on a piece of paper, and hoped to the high heavens that it would still work.

Ned hastily dialed and sat on the arm of the couch. The dial tone buzzed in his ears; he nervously fingered the hem of his coat, and stared at Duck's coat on the other side of the room. The thing was a little worn around the edges; the Pineguard patch was sewn rather neatly to the inside lining, its sunset ombre the only splash of color on the ratty old sherpa-lined thing. He wondered vaguely what the man was doing here this early; didn't he have a job? Weren't there more important things to do? Wasn't -

The dial tone ended, and the headset on the other end clicked. Ned beamed and relaxed a bit, even though nobody could see him. "Lu, hello!" he said. "Glad you picked up, I was worried you weren't workin' here anymore -"

An unfamiliar, slightly cold voice responded. "This is Carter. Lucy doesn't work here anymore," the voice said frostily. "She moved to Arkansas last spring."

"Arkansas?" Ned echoed. "Good grief, why Arkansas -?"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to state your name and reason for calling, please."

Ned's collar started to itch. He tugged at it a bit, staring bleakly at that colored patch inside Duck's coat. "My name?" he said. "My - heh, you want my name?"

"Yes, sir." That snide voice was definitely starting to sound suspicious now, too. "If you please."

And Ned, in a panicked, delirious haze, didn't even bother with coming up with a fake name, and said the first name to come to mind.

"Duck," he said stiffly. "Duck Newton."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Duck, you said?" Carter said at last.

"Yeah, it's a nickname," Ned said, tugging at his collar again. God, it was feeling itchy. "I was, ah, calling to see if I could get some information on someone, if that wouldn't be too much trouble -"

"You a government employee?" Carter interrupted. "In order to release information to anyone, under the government's no disclosure without consent policy, you'll have to be a government employee to get access to any info we have on record."

"Well -”

Ned froze, staring at Duck's jacket. His _park ranger jacket._

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am," he said, and stood up.

"Sector?"

"Parks and Recreation," Ned said. The cord to the phone stretched - God, this thing was almost as old as he was - and he went to Duck's coat, rummaging through the pockets. "I work out at the, uh, Monongahela National Forest."

"Oh, how nice. Can you - Duck, can you read the ID number off your Parks and Rec ID, just so I can run you through the system?"

Ned sniffed. _Way ahead of you,_ he thought, closing his hand around Duck's wallet. He decided to channel a bit of acting into this, though, and drew himself up. "Now, hold on," he said suspiciously. "Is that... that doesn't seem quite so secure, mister - I'm not so sure about that -"

"Sir, we are a government facility, and every method of communication is kept under the strictest security," Carter said, sounding almost bored. "ID number, please." Ned flipped open the wallet, and skimmed the ID tucked into the translucent window at the front. _Sorry, Duck,_ he thought to himself, as he read off the numbers. Man, he hoped that Indrid was keeping Duck mighty busy; this would look bad if Duck walked out and saw Ned messing with his stuff. All his trust for him would go right down the drain.

After a brief moment of silence, broken only by clacking keys, Carter said, "Well, Duck, it looks like you're in our system after all." He sounded much more friendly, now, and Ned puffed out his chest a little. By golly, he still had it. Not like it was hard, tricking people over the phone - but he still had it. That counted for something.

"Of course I am, of course," he said, meandering back over to the couch to sit down. "Been with the Park Service for... oh, as long as I can remember! Been quite a while -"

"Sure, sure, Duck, I bet," Carter said dully. "Alright. So. You said you wanted to look up some information on someone?"

"Yes..."

"You got a name?"

Ned thought back to that moment when he'd seen Stern's badge; he'd memorized the name in a flash, thinking it would come in handy at some point, and by God it had. "Yes," he said. "It's -" Heavy footsteps tramped across the front porch, and the door swung open so violently it smashed against the wall. Ned turned and almost dropped the phone.

"Garfield Kent Stern," he said numbly into the phone, as the agent himself stumbled into the main room of the Amnesty Lodge. He was coated in ice, as if he’d been jammed into a walk-in freezer for about a week, and he was shivering so violently that Ned could hear his teeth clacking from across the room. Agent Stern took one look at Ned and opened his mouth as if to speak, but paused - and promptly collapsed to the floor. Ned stared at his prone body for a long time.

The door to Mama's office suddenly swung open. Mama took in the tableau spread before her: the open door, Stern lying in a shivering frozen heap on the floor, and Ned sitting on the sofa with the phone in one hand and Duck's wallet in the other. She looked him dead in the eyes and mouthed, _What the fuck?_ He shrugged and grimaced. Hell if he knew.

On the phone, Carter said, "Duck? You still there?"

Mama's eyes darted towards the phone and narrowed suspiciously. Ned waved a dismissive hand and turned to the phone, saying, "Yeah, still here. Gimme one second."

"Ned," Mama hissed. "What the hell is going on?"

Ned covered the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand and whispered, "On the phone. Getting dirt on Stern. Really important stuff!"

"Did he just call you 'Duck?'"

"No!"

Mama heaved a great, heavy sigh, and slowly reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Ned shrugged apologetically and returned to the phone. "Alright, Carter, my lad. What do you have for me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading! every single one of your comments has made my day better, and I love you all so much for taking the time to review. i really really do appreciate it. a couple of cool things: one, ya girl has been rolling dice all chapter to figure out what the characters are actually going to do. i have the monster of the week manuals downloaded and everything, but i'm still playing fast and loose with the results. the rolls for this chapter were... interesting. oof. ~~the late duck newton rolled a five~~
> 
> and two: WE GOT SOME FUCKIN FANART, YO! This is art for that scene in the last chapter, when Duck comes out and sees the scars on Indrid's back. fuckin phenomenal art and i love it to death. [check it out here, and look at the artist's tumblr while you're at it.](https://artlyloser.tumblr.com/post/180219370611/anyways-you-should-all-read-the-moth-who-came-in) i would die for ally in a heartbeat. if any of y'all want to make art of anything, you absolutely positively can. i would dissolve instantly out of sheer joy
> 
> as always, thanks to the TAZ discord for all your love and support. please leave a comment on the way out! questions, comments, concerns - all are welcome! and if tumblr is still standing and hasn't burned to the ground by now, check me out at [@taako-waititi](http://taako-waititi.tumblr.com). thanks for reading!


	5. Into The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you ever hear the tragedy of indrid cold the mothman? I thought not. it's not a story that the Lodge would tell you...
> 
>  
> 
> ~~i might just start leading off each chapter with a shitty meme, it's kinda fun~~

_January 20th_

_Amnesty Lodge_

_11:23 a.m._

When it began, Duck didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Indrid had finished writing down Duck's vision about six minutes ago. Neither of them knew what to make of it: reaching hands, endless cold, an absence of gravity. Indrid had carefully examined the words on the page, frowning pensively and tapping the end of the pen against his lips. “This… is quite odd,” he said. “So you saw a hand -”

“Yeah.”

“And heard… voices?”

“Names,” Duck said quietly. Something like panic rose in his throat, and he tamped it down, feeling slightly nauseous. “And stuff like that.”

“Mm. Do you remember what names you heard?”

Duck swallowed and looked away from Indrid, out the window next to his bed. “No,” he said softly. He ran a hand over his stubble, still hearing the echoes in his head. Indrid hummed softly and scratched something in the margins.

Afterwards, Duck had gone to refill Indrid's tea and reheat the pho. They sat in companionable silence in Indrid's appropriated room, Indrid slurping away at the spicy soup while Duck paged through the discarded _Time_ magazine.

Indrid was nearly through his soup when he suddenly went still.

At first, Duck didn't notice. Then the spoon rattled against the bowl. He looked up. Indrid was staring into space, the spoon held loosely in his quivering fingers; his eyes were wide behind his glasses, unfocused and filled with fear.

"Indrid?" he said. "Indrid, what's goin' on?"

Indrid's breathing quickened. The bowl, now empty, slipped from his hands and into his lap with a dull clank of metal on ceramic. Duck snatched it up and put it on the bedside table, before it spilled all over the journal. At last, Indrid said, in a shaky whisper, "Oh, God."

And then he slammed the journal shut, threw it to one side, and staggered out of bed. "Hey, hey, no!" Duck half-shouted, grabbing Indrid's elbow. Indrid's breath was rattling in his lungs, and his sniffles sounded like a sputtering engine; there was no way in hell that he was supposed to be out of bed.

"Duck, let go of me," Indrid said, voice hoarse and shaking. He tried to tug his elbow from Duck's grasp, but he was still too weak, and all he did was stumble slightly. "Get Beacon."

"What -?"

"On the bedside table, get Beacon, now," Indrid demanded. He turned to face Duck; his eyes were still wide and crazed, but there was a deep, dark seriousness down at the bottom of them that made Duck's stomach turn. He sniffled and wiped his nose. "Please," Indrid said softly.

"Indrid, what the hell -"

"I saw something," Indrid said. Duck froze. "Duck -"

Indrid's voice broke, and he bent double at the waist, hacking uncontrollably. Duck grabbed his shoulder, that sick feeling spiking erratically in his chest. Indrid's skin was cold and clammy under his skin. Every single instinct in Duck's mind was shrieking at him to just pick Indrid up and bundle him back into bed. Tie him down for good measure, to keep him from getting out there and getting sicker.

"I saw something bad," Indrid croaked. "Duck, you have to let me go. Please." He reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed; his grip was weak and cold, and Duck's heart felt torn in two. "Get Beacon, and call the fire department."

Duck stared. "The fire department? How come?"

"I see fire," Indrid said, his voice deadly serious. "Duck, I see fire in the woods. You need to call them." Duck felt his grip loosen on Indrid's elbow, and Indrid tugged out of his grasp, slipping away down the hall. He had to lean on the wall for support, shambling down the hall like a zombie.

Back in the room, there was a rasp of metal on metal as Beacon unfurled himself to speak. "Hmm," he said, in his oily voice. "I sense danger afoot, Duck Newton -"

Duck's lip curled. "Shut the hell up," he snapped, and went back into the room to collect him. "Just keep quiet and come with me."

"It seems I have no choice in the matter," Beacon muttered, curling up in a distinctly disgruntled way. Duck snatched him up and ran down the hall after Indrid, who had by now broken into a frantic stumble down the hall, seemingly one wrong step away from tripping and eating shit on the hardwood floor. He could hear his wheezing and coughing even from this far away.

Indrid lunged into the main room of the Lodge, his arms flailing, and braced himself against the back of the sofa. "Mama," he croaked. "Mama, they're… oh, that’s -"

Duck followed close after him, but stopped short, nearly skidding into Indrid. “Jesus, what the fuck!” he yelped. Lying unconscious on the floor, coated head to toe in ice, was Agent Stern. Mama stood over his body; Jake and a couple other Sylvans were wrestling with his dead weight. Duck stared, open-mouthed, as they picked him up and moved him towards the crackling fireplace.

“That’s Stern,” Indrid said hoarsely. He looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Hm. That’s… unfortunate.”

“Sure is,” Mama said, giving him an odd look. “Indrid, what’s goin’ on? What’re you doing out of bed?”

Indrid shook his head. "Don't give me that shit," he said, in a thin wheezy voice. His fingers dug into the back of the couch. Mama's eyebrows flew up. Ned gave him one look, muttered something into the phone, and hung up. "Barclay. Aubrey. My trailer. You have to go, now."

* * *

_Approximately five minutes ago_  
_Eastwood Campgrounds_  
_Kepler, West Virginia_

Aubrey hated silence.

Silence made it feel like her ears were filled with cotton, like her brain was dissolving; silence put her on edge and made the back of her neck prickle. Where there was silence, there was danger; where there was noise, there were safety, there was certainty. In silence, anything could happen. The clearing where Indrid's beat-up Winnebago was parked was so silent, she could feel it settling in her bones like wet sand. She made a point of stepping really hard on the ice-crusted snow, just to hear the crack echoing off the trees.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Barclay said, frowning at her.

"It's too fucking quiet, that's why," she said.

"Well, that's winter for ya, I suppose. You doin' okay? Warm enough?"

"Yeah," Aubrey said. She shifted her parka a bit and knocked her sunglasses to the side. Bright sunlight, reflected off the snow, immediately stabbed into her eyes, and she hastily jammed them back on. Jeepers. That really hurt. She had no idea how Barclay's retinas weren't burnt to a crisp by now.

They plodded along the same trail they'd taken that first time, the straight but long path leading from the parking lot for hikers to the main campground. Their footsteps from two nights ago were still imprinted in the snow, by now turned to half-eroded craters thanks to the newest snowfall. A fine layer of ice covered everything. Aubrey amused herself by walking in what she thought were Duck's footprints, trying to match the taller man's long stride.

Then they hit the campground. Aubrey let out a low whistle.  Barclay stopped dead in his tracks. "Well, fuck," he said flatly.

"Seconded," Aubrey said.

Indrid's Winnebago was still there, but God almighty, did it look rough. The snow all around it was churned up liked mashed potatoes, footprints completely indiscernible in the mess. The camper's door hung wide open like a gaping mouth. A great drift of snow had blown in and covered most of the interior. They got closer; Barclay drifted forward to the cab, and Aubrey followed, watching him examine the door handle on the passenger's side. It looked like something - or someone - had been trying to tamper with it; the paint around the lock was chipped, and the handle itself looked slightly bent, as if someone had tried to pry it off.

"Stern?" Aubrey asked.

"Probably," Barclay said grimly. He gave the open door a sour look. "Christ. What a fucking nuisance, that man..."

"Yeah."

Barclay sighed and headed for the open door, giving the churned-up snow around the door a wide berth. "I'm gonna go through here and see if anything was taken, or messed around with," he said. "You wanna... help, maybe? Depends on what you've got in your, uh, skillset these days, I guess."

Something on one side of the clearing caught Aubrey's eye.

"Well, uh. Actually," she said slowly, "I really don't know that much..."

"That's fair -"

"I don't wanna mess anything up."

"Also fair. Don't worry, I understand," Barclay said, with a quick smile. "If you wanna take a look around feel free, any clues we can rustle up are more help than hurt at this point." With that, he stepped up into the camper, his boots crunching on the snow. Aubrey thought, for the briefest second, that she saw a faint shimmer on his skin; Barclay seemed to pause, but a few minutes later he sighed and closed the door.

Aubrey walked across the clearing.

On the other side, she had noticed a strange gap in the trees, about five or six feet off the ground - broken branches, mostly, and a handful of twigs scattered across the snow. The churned-up snow seemed to lead straight to that gap, but stopped short. Aubrey stood next to the disturbed trail of snow. It didn't - well, it didn’t look _disturbed_ , like someone had walked through and kicked a bunch of it up. No, it was like something had been dragged - or was dragging itself.

In the Winnebago, lights flickered through the ice still coating the inside. Aubrey could just barely make out Barclay, testing the light switches and touching the walls in seemingly arbitrary places; but each time his hand seemed to hit a wall, the air around the Winnebago shimmered with a slight reddish hue. Interesting. For a brief moment, Aubrey wanted to go back and see exactly what he was doing, but the messed-up trees seemed a hell of a lot more interesting. She turned and crawled through the gap in the trees, following the trail of broken branches just above her head.

Here, the forest seemed to darken, the trees drawing closer together above her head. It got to the point that the snow wasn't quite as blinding, and Aubrey took her sunglasses off to get a better look at the world. It was then that she noticed the footprints in the snow at her feet, and she dodged away from them. She was no detective, but it looked like they were walking in the opposite direction - back towards the campgrounds, and Indrid's camper.  Aubrey followed the footprints backwards for a few more steps - and nearly lost her footing.

She heard rushing water. The snow stopped abruptly before her, and running water flowed beneath a large hole in the ice. "Jesus," she hissed, and skittered back. Now she knew where she was, or at least what she was looking at: part of the river that ran through the Monongahela National Forest, flanked by bushes and large rocks, frozen over now that winter had hit. The longer she looked at that hole in the ice, though, the stronger the unease in her stomach grew. The snow around the hole was disturbed by what clearly looked like hands. As if someone was trying to crawl out of the water.

Holy shit. For their sake, she hoped they were okay. They'd clearly made it out, judging from the footprints leading in the other direction, but -

Through the forest, she heard the sound of groaning metal. She froze, listening.

Only silence met her ears. A distant, shrieking wind seemed to blow, howling a note like someone blowing over the top of a bottle. Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Aubrey turned around and headed back to the trailer. When  yet another metallic groan echoed through the trees, she broke into a fast jog. All the while, the wind howled, and the snow swirled at her back.

* * *

He remembered this trailer.

Barclay took a deep breath, the air chilling his lungs, and sat down on the edge of Indrid's table. It creaked slightly under his weight. God, he remembered. The place was different than it used to be, for sure, but Indrid'd had this thing for a long time. Indrid and him went way back, the two of 'em. Barclay looked around the walls, at the drawings pinned up, the mugs of eggnog - at least that didn't change - and the knitted afghans piled on the bed, and sighed.

Time worked in funny ways, didn't it.

He and Indrid had known each other for a fair few decades. Met by chance, really - they first ran into each other in the mid-60s, while Barclay was dodging the Vietnam draft. Not because he was a citizen and willing to fight, hell no - he didn’t even have papers; he was just the only man of fighting age left in that podunk Kentucky town, and people were getting suspicious, so he had to pack it up and go. Indrid was on his way to Chicago after the Silver Bridge incident went down. Barclay was making his way to Canada. One thing led to another, they ran into Mama after an incident with a motorcycle and a shipment of live shrimp, and they put down roots in Kepler. A good place for Sylphs, Mama said. Good place to put down roots and stay safe. So they did.

Indrid had bought this camper new in the 60s. A ‘67 Winnebago F-19; it really was older than dirt and looked like it was half-made of it these days, too. Barclay laughed softly to himself, running a hand over the cracked Formica table. He'd played Euker at this table with Indrid, in the 70s, and nearly split the table in half when -

When -

Outside, the wind started to howl, the sound setting Barclay's teeth on edge. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn, it wasn't that long ago, was it? Couldn't be. His memory was shot half to hell most days, even...  even with the older stuff, goin' back to the 1800s, but that... he was sure he hadn't forgotten it. Barclay was _sure_ he'd remembered how they'd met, and why -

He felt a cold chill run down his spine, like an ice cube, and a sick feeling of _something wrong, something wrong_ settled in his chest. "It was a draft, right?" he whispered to himself. The wind outside grew stronger. A draft? God, he couldn't remember what that was even for. He scrubbed a shaking hand over his face. He couldn't remember the war that the draft was for; in his mind, it was all blurring into Civil-One-Two-Korea-Vietnam-Gulf-Iraq, and he'd almost fought in World War I, hadn't he? Hadn’t he?

A sharp pain blossomed at the base of his neck, like he'd been stung by a mosquito.

And Barclay looked around the trailer, panic rising like bile in his throat, and realized that he didn't know where he was, and he didn't know how he'd _gotten_ here, and -

The door crashed open; through a hazy fog he heard Aubrey call his name.

Then she fell silent.

And then she screamed.

* * *

The minute Aubrey opened the door to the Winnebago, she knew something was deeply, terribly wrong.

The interior of the camper, if possible, seemed even duller and darker than before, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. Barclay sat on the edge of Indrid's table, perilously close to a few stacks of empty mugs; his shoulders seemed stiff, almost, as if he was bracing himself for a blow, though his arms hung limp at his sides. "Barclay?" she said uncertainly. "You okay?"

He did not respond. The shadows inside the trailer seemed to grow darker, and deeper, and Aubrey felt something deep inside her twist - as if something ancient and powerful and altogether wrong was watching her. So she took a deep breath, scanned the trailer one last time, and opened her third eye. And what she saw made her scream.

The inside of the trailer itself was completely pitch-black, through her third eye - devoid of any magical energies at all, which was not what she expected. That shouldn't have been the case; if Barclay was putting up spells, then the place should have looked like a bonfire, but it seemed like none of them managed to stick. But in the middle of the room, about where Barclay was sitting, something that made Aubrey's legs weak was perched on Barclay's back - and staring directly at her.

What looked like a massive blob was latched onto Barclay's back; sharp, curving talons protruded from its body, curving around the lines of his rib cage and digging deep. As she watched, the blob pressed itself flush to Barclay's spine, traveling up and up towards his head, which was shrouded in smoke that flashed from the inside like a thunderstorm. Parts of the blob bulged and quivered, then unfurled into three large sets of batlike wings.

Barclay took a deep breath, and turned towards her. Aubrey gulped. She could not see his face, not with her third eye, but the smoke around his head - the lights coalesced into two horizontal slits, like menacing eyes, and focused right on her. That same pang hit her right in the chest, and the feeling of being watched grew so intense she was drowning in it -

"Aubrey?" Barclay said softly. "Is that - is... Aubrey?"

Barclay sounded confused, afraid; it sent fear shivering through her from head to toe, because while Barclay had often been panicked, or uncertain, or resigned, he had never sounded so lost. The glowing red slits in the cloud of smoke glowed stronger, and the bat's wings expanded and grew.

Aubrey took a deep breath. "It's me," she sighed, lifting her hands. "Barclay, I'm so sorry if this doesn't work." She closed her third eye, and a massive gust of wind blasted from her hands.

She wasn't going to use fire. God, no - not in this camper, and not on Barclay. She couldn't risk burning him to death or making the whole place burn down. But the wind came out far stronger than she intended, and Barclay went flying across the camper, smashing into the stove. There was a metallic shriek and a hiss, and the stove shifted slightly away from the wall. Aubrey winced. "Sorry, sorry!" she yelped, seeing Barclay's grimace.

On Barclay's back, the thing - concentration broken - flickered into existence. It let out a howl, and its talons dug in deeper. Barclay let out a pained yell and fell to his knees. Aubrey panicked and blasted him again; he smashed back-first into the wall. The thing shrieked again. It... it seemed to be letting go, almost, the talons retracting and the cloud of fog receding from around Barclay's head.

But then the creature let Barclay slump to the floor, and it drew itself up into a roiling column of smoke. Its talons, flanking its body like the hairs on the edges of a Venus fly-trap, spread wider. Aubrey gulped. "Sorry," she whispered again.

Outside, she heard roaring engines - like snowmobiles. She glanced towards the window -

A force slammed into her body, knocking her into the refrigerator and to the ground. The ice-crusted carpet crunched under her body. The refrigerator door swung open; a couple of packs of Taco Bell hot sauce and a carton of eggnog fell onto her. Above, the creature let out another long, half-melodic shriek, and its wings flared wide. They seemed incorporeal, sliding through the walls in every which way. The upper half of the cloud of smoke opened wide, like a gaping mouth, and Aubrey -

She felt a presence tickle the edges of her mind, almost gnawing at her, and panicked. A massive gout of flame surged from her hands, and right into the creature's body.

"Aubrey, no!" Barclay shouted -

A bit too late, Aubrey noticed the faint smell of rotting eggs.

The world went white.

* * *

The snowmobiles charged towards Indrid's Winnebago along the trail, kicking snow every which way. Mama had rustled up Jake and Dani, who had been sleeping in, and taken them, along with Duck and Ned. Duck clung to the back of Ned's borrowed snowmobile, afraid he was going to be launched off at any minute; the man drove like he was possessed, taking rough corners and driving over stumps without a care in the world. He almost wanted to say that Ned was worried about Aubrey, or Barclay, or both - but he'd never say that to Ned's face. God knew that Duck was worried out of his goddamn mind.

All three snowmobiles hit the clearing and skidded to a halt. Jake leapt off the back, clutching a fire extinguisher, and ran towards the camper, before stopping short. "There's nothing," he said, confused. "Mama, what -"

There was a scream inside the camper, and a large crash. Duck was instantly on guard; he grabbed the fire extinguisher lashed to the snowmobile and got off, staring at the dark windows, as if somehow he'd be able to see through the closed curtains and thick ice and figure out just what the fuck was happening. He wished he had his gun.

Thank God Mama had one. The camper rocked from side to side, and Mama swung her rifle off her back, cocking it with one smooth motion. "The hell's goin' on in there?" Ned said, his face pale. Dani, bundled up in dozens of jackets and a balaclava, merely glared at the camper, as if by sheer force of will she could stop whatever was happening inside.

There was silence. Then, a shout that unmistakably belonged to Barclay: "Aubrey, no!" Duck's heart plummeted into his stomach - and the camper exploded.

A massive wave of heat rolled across the clearing, punching right through Duck's jacket and making him stagger back. Some of the trees closer to the Winnebago ignited; a great cloud of acrid black smoke rolled up and out. Christ, he’d thought there wasn’t any propane left in Indrid’s trailer, since the power was out and the generator was fucked. There must’ve been a bit trapped in the pipes, then: not enough to heat the camper the way Indrid needed, but just enough to make the thing blow. Well, fuck.

Duck shoved the fire extinguisher into Ned's chest and sprinted towards the camper. "Aubrey!" he shouted, making for the door.

"Duck, be careful," Ned yelled. Duck ignored him and yanked the door open, coughing as a wave of smoke slammed into him. Inside, he could see both Barclay and Aubrey on the floor, as the inside of the camper burned. The heat was nearly unbearable, with his thick jacket; Duck watched, horrified, as Barclay's shirt ignited, and the other man feverishly smacked the flames to put them out. Aubrey was on her back, coughing miserably. Her eyes were fixed on a point straight above herDuck followed her panicked gaze through the flames and gasped, fumbling for Beacon coiled at his belt.

Hovering near the ceiling, rendered nearly invisible by the thick smoke, was a massive batlike creature formed of shadow, with three sets of wings and a bunch of sharp curving talons on either side of its body. It looked hellish in the white-hot flames, like a demon from the underworld ready to swoop down and consume him -

Barclay suddenly crawled towards him, coughing, his face twisted with pain. Blood was trickling down his neck. "Go, go!" he yelled, voice hoarse. "Grab Aubrey and fucking go!"

"You hurt, Aubrey?" Duck said.

"I'm okay!" Aubrey said, scooting towards Duck. She kept casting looks back at that terrifying thing hovering near the ceiling, face slack with terror. Duck couldn't blame her. When she was close enough, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the camper. Aubrey landed hard in the snow, Barclay close behind, and fell to her hands and knees, coughing. Barclay helped her up and dragged her over to the others.

In his hand, Beacon uncoiled himself, pointing directly at the creature. "Duck," he said, in a low voice.

"Yeah," Duck said. Up above, the thing's talons rippled in and out, like the edges of a jellyfish, and the lights glowing where Duck thought its head would be glowed a darker shade of red.

"Are you going to fight, Duck Newton?"

The thing hissed at him and descended; a strange sensation filled his mind, like his head had been dipped in a vat of Orajel. Duck could feel the edges of the world getting hazy, memories growing dim - and realized this was exactly what Indrid had said he'd gone through... Duck gritted his teeth and lifted Beacon. "Hell yeah, I am," he said, and swung.

It seemed as if he was swiping through smoke; off-balance, he staggered to the side and knocked a couple of mugs off the counter. The thing let out a guttural shriek, like some hellish combination of a train whistle, an accordion, and a thousand teakettles, and swooped down. A massive sense of terror filled Duck's chest, and he staggered back. "Gonna take a raincheck on that, Beacon," he croaked, and staggered out of the camper.

Outside, the others were already sitting on their snowmobiles, ready to go. Aubrey was leaning heavily on Dani’s snowmobile, catching her breath; Jake was still holding the fire extinguishers, watching everything go down with his eyes wide with terror. Ned had completely abandoned his fire extinguisher and had Barclay by the elbows, saying urgent things to him that Duck couldn’t make out. Barclay seemed to stare right through the other man, eyes hollow and confused, and Duck felt his stomach lurch.

He waved his arms around in a way he hoped was dismissive. "Get out of here, go!" he yelled.

"Is it dead?" Aubrey screamed.

"No!" Duck shouted back. "We can't kill this now, let's just go!"

"You tried?" Ned said. "What, are you a hundred and ten percent sure that you couldn't -?"

"No, he's right."

Duck stared at Mama. She was looking right at him, now, her eyes steely and grim. "It can't be killed," she said, "not the way you want it to." She lowered her gun and clicked the safety on. Duck stared at her in horrified confusion, and she just looked back at him - and Duck nearly took a step back.

In her eyes was not fear, or anger, but stone-cold hopelessness. "Ya tried, Duck," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the roaring flames. "But this ain't your fight, not anymore. We gotta run while we got the chance -"

Behind him, something cracked, and the flames sputtered a bit before surging back with even more force. Duck slowly turned. From the wreckage of Indrid's trailer came a great spurt of black smoke, and the creature emerged like a dragon from its lair. Its batlike wings spread wide, wider than Duck thought, nearly the width of the clearing. Beacon swore loudly, and at length, and nobody had the heart to stop him.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dani step forward.

Her footsteps were slight and barely audible in the snow, but each step seemed solid. Powerful, like those of a last soldier marching off to face the horde. The creature's massive wings swirled the smoke, sending it higher and higher. Its talons spread wider like a gaping mouth, and a shiver went up Duck's spine. "Dani, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Mama barked.

Dani raised a hand in her direction, not turning around. Her fingers spread and clenched into a shaking fist at her side. Aubrey was cursing a blue streak, frozen in terror on the back of the snowmobile. "God, what's she doing?" Ned breathed. The fire extinguisher slipped through Jake’s fingers and hit the ground with a clank.

"Oh, no," Barclay said quietly. He was leaning heavily on Ned for support. "Jesus Christ - Dani, stop!" Before them, the creature's talons opened wide one last time - and it descended, engulfing her completely. Aubrey screamed, "No!" and launched herself off the snowmobile.

But what happened next made all of them freeze again.

Golden light filled the creature from the inside, flaring along its wings and roiling deep within its mist-formed body. It let out a high-pitched shriek of pain that made Duck clap his hands over his ears. Around the creature's glowing body, he could see the talons trying to get a grip on Dani, but it seemed weakened somehow. Dani fell to her knees; a soft shout of pain, barely audible over the flames roiling on the other side of the clearing, reached Duck's ears.

"Christ almighty," Mama breathed, and lifted her gun. The safety clicked off.

"Wait, Mama, what the hell -"

"This won't kill it," Mama said, aiming at one of the creature's massive wings. "But it'll distract it well enough. She needs it."

"What -"

Mama fired.

The bullets went right through one of the thing's middle wings. It recoiled slightly in surprise; that was all the distraction that Dani needed. With a fierce yell, she stood back up and tore loose from the creature's grip, staggering backwards. Aubrey was right there to catch her; she held Dani close, as if afraid that Dani would crumble to dust in her arms. "Dani, you okay?" she said, her voice shaking. Dani did not respond, only lowered her face into Aubrey's shoulder, shivering. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

In front of them, the creature writhed; that golden light spiraled around inside, flickering in its misty body and zipping between its many wings like a ping-pong ball. Mama aimed at its head and fired again. The bullet zipped right between its eyes, disturbing the mist that formed it. As the creature floated backwards, now starting to lose its shape, Mama grabbed Dani and pulled her onto the back of her snowmobile. "We gotta go, now!" she yelled.

Jake gestured vaguely at the flaming Winnebago. "What about Indrid's camper?" he yelled back.

There were sirens in the distance. "Leave it!" Duck said reluctantly. "Indrid told me to call ahead, tell the forest service that there was some trouble -"

"He knew this would happen?" Aubrey said.

"Now," Mama said again, her voice hard. "Straight back to the Lodge, we have to go before that thing gets any of its strength back. C'mon!"

Somehow, they wrestled Barclay and Aubrey onto their already-crowded snowmobiles - and God, it was dangerous, piling three people on a two-person vehicle, but they didn't exactly have a choice. Barclay shouted something about taking the truck back to Mama, who gave him a thumbs up. Ned, who had swapped out Duck for Barclay, stopped in the parking lot when they got there to let him go. Thankfully, they were able to zip out of the parking lot before the fire department got there; that was not a conversation that Duck was willing to have with these people.

But he still felt horribly guilty, leaving the smoking wreckage of Indrid's camper behind, and a wounded creature still zipping around the woods pissed to high heaven. He hoped that the firefighters would be okay, and that the thing was weakened enough that it’d leave them alone. Whatever it was. God, he had so many fucking questions. Duck gave Mama, riding her snowmobile at the front of the pack, a suspicious look.

In the seat on the back, Dani clung to the snowmobile with a stiff grip, staring unseeingly into the woods. As if she was searching for something she had lost.

* * *

They stumbled into Amnesty Lodge’s front room like a host of zombies, weak and shaky and shivering from the cold. Mama helped Dani down from the snowmobile and ushered her into the Lodge right away; Aubrey seemed tempted to help, but they moved too fast, and she stood there for a moment with her arm outstretched before shrinking in on herself. She looked lost, untethered.

Ned felt a strange, almost fatherly urge to give her a hug, but shook it off. That wasn’t his brand. Hachi machi, this was the second time in as many months that her powers had gone apeshit; she was really pulling the short stick. Especially given her history with… y’know. Fire and shit. Horrible luck. Ned scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, and followed Jake into the Lodge.

Stern was still lying prone on the couch, in front of the fireplace. It seemed like he’d thawed out a bit, which was… good, Ned supposed, but his eyes were still closed. A couple of Sylvans were sitting nearby, keeping an eye on him in case he woke up; one made eye contact with Mama and nodded once. “He’s out,” he said. “Like a light.”

“Thanks, Lex,” Mama said quietly. “Make sure he stays down, alright?”

“Sure thing.”

Duck had stopped halfway through the door and was patting his pockets, a perplexed frown on his face; Ned squeezed past a bit too close, with a quick “ ‘Scuse me, Duck,” and slipped Duck’s wallet into his pocket. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching. He locked eyes with Barclay. Barclay crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow; his face was smudged with soot, a bit of blood was trickling down his neck, and there was a disapproving glint in his eyes. If Ned had a penny for every time someone had given him that kind of look, then he’d be Scrooge McDuck.

He gave Barclay a quick grin and winked.

Barclay blinked a couple of times, and his disapproving glare relaxed into something… perplexed, almost, before he pursed his lips and turned away. Ned cringed when he saw his friend’s back: his thick parka was shredded all along the back and partly soaked with blood, and there was a nasty open sore on the back of his neck that was oozing blood. “Jeepers,” he breathed, and charged after him. “Hey, whoa, Barclay, you alright?”

“You have eyes, Ned,” Barclay said thinly, leaning against the door to the basement. His shoulders slumped wearily.  “I’m far from alright.”

“Here, lemme -” Ned reached around the door and opened it. “Let’s get you down there and cleaned up…”

“Actually.”

He turned.

Mama stood a few feet away, her hands jammed deep into her pockets.“Why don’t we all go down,” she said gently. Her eyes were tinged with a soft, raw regret that made Ned’s chest clench uncomfortably. He’d never seen that look in her eyes before. Behind her, Duck was glaring at her back, a reassuring arm around Aubrey’s shoulder. Aubrey was oddly still, hunched in upon herself; her pompadour was messed up, and every inch of her was charred or smudged with soot. “I…”

She sighed, and gently nudged Dani forward. Dani pushed past Ned, and went down into the basement with Barclay. “I have some explaining to do,” she said grimly. “We all do.”

“Seconded,” Duck muttered, a bit loudly. Mama turned and gave him a look, but he lifted his chin and looked right back.

A door opened somewhere in the distance; he patted Aubrey on the back and practically power-walked over to where the hallway opened into the Lodge’s main room. Indrid came shuffling towards them with a blanket draped around his shoulders; he was clutching a battered journal to his chest. Ned watched as Duck charged towards Indrid, lifted a hand to put on his shoulder, and immediately brought it back down. Indrid smiled weakly at him, and said something he couldn’t quite make out.

Ned’s eyes narrowed.

Mama said, “ ‘Scuzzi, Ned.”

“Sure, movin’ right along,” Ned grumbled to Mama, and turned to head down the stairs.

Down there in their little secret den, it was already getting a bit cramped. Barclay was standing over by the medical station, shucking off his mangled parka with some difficulty. Dani rummaged through a few drawers and pulled out a big old bottle of peroxide. Her hands were shaking slightly. Ned noticed that her coat was ripped in a similar way as Barclay’s, and there was a faint bruise on the back of her neck, but otherwise she looked fine. Aubrey slumped down in a chair and stared at the floor, her hands locked together to keep them from shaking.

Ned stared as Barclay started tugging off his shirt, moving slowly and grimacing the whole time. Barclay certainly was a big man under all that flannel. Not a lot of visible muscle, but he still looked like he could throw a truck with his bare hands. But it looked like someone had taken a knife to him; long, curving cuts were carved into the skin between Barclay’s ribs, and a line of open, raw sores went all the way up his back, The sight made Ned want to hurl. Jesus Christ, he looked bad.

Barclay turned, then, and sat on their medical table. That hollow, unfocused look still lingered in his eyes. When he’d come charging out of the camper, covered in soot and blood, he’d almost immediately grabbed Ned to steady himself, and Jesus, his _face -_ he looked like the world had fallen out from under him. Ned had done the best he could to help.

_“It’s me, big guy, it’s me. Look at me. What’s goin’ on?”_

_“Ned, where the hell…?”_

_Barclay’s eyes were nearly crazed with panic. “Where the hell are we, Ned?” he said, dazed. “I - I don’t -”_

_An unpleasant shiver went down Ned’s spine. “We’re at Indrid’s camper,” he said. “In - at the Eastwoods Campgrounds, Barclay - are you okay?”_

“You okay?”

Ned blinked. Barclay was staring at him, face creased in a perplexed frown. He cleared his throat. “Gonna need a fair few Band-aids, there,” he said numbly.

“No kidding,” Barclay sighed. He swallowed, as Jake grabbed the peroxide from Dani and brought out some cloth. “God, that was horrible...”

“What was?” Barclay grimaced and looked at Mama, who was leaning against the wall at one end of the room. Ned looked at her. “Mama, what the hell’s been going on?”

Footsteps creaked above, and someone started walking down the stairs. Duck came into view, his coat folded over his arm. “I’d like that answered, too,” he said grimly. There was a hard look in his eyes that Ned didn’t like the look of.

Mama’s eyes slid shut, and she breathed a long, heavy sigh. “Alright,” she said quietly. “We got some explainin’ to do. We haven’t been fully honest with you.”

“No shit,” snapped Aubrey.

Everyone turned to stare. Mama’s eyes opened. Aubrey glared back at all of them. “You’ve been hiding stuff from us, Mama,” she said fiercely. “I’m sick and tired of this - I wish you’d given us a fucking explanation, before… before I burned Indrid’s camper to the ground.” Her hands clenched into fists. Ned remembered how she’d passed out in the snow, after that incident with the Pizza Hut sign, and sighed heavily. God. Poor girl. “Mama, what the hell was that thing?”

For a long, tense moment, Mama did not respond. Then she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for a blow, and said, “That was... an abomination.”

There was silence for a bit. “Wait, wait,” Duck began. He put his coat on the back of a chair and crossed his arms. “I thought that they - it’s the wrong time for them to come out, we’re not due for about another month -”

“It’s been out for 20-odd years,” Dani said wearily. Ned’s eyebrows flew up. “It was one of the first ones to come out of the gate, here in Kepler.”

“But… what is it?” Aubrey said. “That thing - I haven’t ever seen anything like it, or heard of it, or -”

“We don’t really know,” said Mama. “All we know is what it can do.” She sighed heavily and scanned the room. There was a weary, defeated look in her eyes that made Ned feel uneasy. “It… it latches onto you, physically and - well, not-physically, and sucks memories out of you. Just takes whatever’s at the forefront of your mind and… consumes it, and it’s gone forever.” Duck was starting to look vaguely nauseous, staring at Barclay’s wounds.

“It got a hold of me,” Barclay said hoarsely. “While I was in the camper. I’d been thinking ‘bout… well, hell, see, I can’t remember. All I know is what I’ve forgotten, if that makes any sense. Just not the details.”

“And that was?” Duck said expectantly.

“Indrid, I think,” Barclay said. “The camper; when we first met, moved in to Kepler.”

“I remember that,” Mama mused. Barclay looked up, something like hope glimmering in his eyes. “You were dodging the draft, if I remember correctly - and Indrid picked you up, ‘n you two ran into that truck full o’ shrimp on Route 219 -”

Ned let out a surprised cackle. Barclay glanced at him, and gave him a faint smile. “Yeah, sounds about right,” he said. He winced as Jake started smearing antibiotic cream over the gashes on his ribs. “Watch it, kid.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re good. I guess I’d been… thinkin’ ‘bout places I’d been, places I’d been - y’know, seen,” Barclay went on, “and that damn thing went and took them all.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Ned muttered. And he kind of meant it, too - he knew how important that was to Barclay. Hell, if those maps he’d seen of Bigfoot sightings were anywhere near accurate, Barclay had been all over the damn country. If Barclay had been keeping track of all those places… well, damn. He was pretty sharp. Had to be, to keep all that straight.

“Thanks, Ned,” Barclay said, with a terse smile.

Across the room, Duck sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, okay, okay. That’s all well and good, we know that y’all’ve been dealing with this thing for a while. How come - why didn’t you tell us about it?”

“We thought it was gone,” Barclay said. “It got out, after the one-week window, and just… vanished completely. Didn’t hear any weird news stories, didn’t hear about anyone gettin’ sucked dry -”

“Sorry, what?” Aubrey said faintly.

“He means,” Mama said, her jaw set, “that this abomination will literally take everything from you. We didn’t want you getting involved with it because -”

“Mama, we signed up for this,” Ned said uncomfortably. “Well - I was sort of blackmailed into it -”

“You were _not,”_ Barclay said. Ned glared at him.

“But we still know what we’re getting into,” Duck said. “Ned’s right, we signed up for this.”

“You didn’t sign up for _this.”_

Pain was written all over Mama’s face. “You don’t know what this thing is capable of, Duck,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t… this abomination, it will take everything from you. When it latches onto you, unless it lets go, you’re doomed. It takes every little thought that crosses your mind and consumes it: names, dates, what you had for breakfast. Then it digs deeper. Memories, hopes, dreams - your childhood, your high school years, everything. It takes your friends. It takes your family. It scrubs you clean.

“And then - and _then,”_ Mama said, her voice shaking. “It gets hungrier. It whittles down everything else. Your senses? Gone. Down the drain. It steals basic brain functions from you, too - muscle control, speech, thought. And then you’re just… an empty husk. And then you die. That’s why I didn’t want you to get involved in this, because Lord almighty, do I _know_ what this thing is capable of.”

Duck now looked well and truly horrified. “Jesus,” he breathed.

“Yeah, seconded,” Aubrey said. She swallowed. “And… there’s no way to kill it?”

“There is.”

Dani’s soft voice cracked slightly. Everyone turned towards her. “Dani, no,” Mama began.

Dani shook her head, and hugged herself a bit tighter. “It consumes memories unconsciously,” she said. “Whatever’s put in front of it, it’ll eat, like some kind of demonic Roomba. We - when we first fought it -”

“Dani -”

“- we found out happier memories hurt it, for some reason,” she said over Jake. “You sacrifice one, and you don’t get it back, but those are like kryptonite to it.”

“More like tryin’ to drive a pushpin into a brick wall,” Mama said firmly. “Dani’s right, but… it doesn’t always work.” Dani’s face convulsed, as if she was forcing down some choice words, and she stood up and left. Aubrey watched her leave; she looked ready to get up and follow her, but stayed sitting.

“What do you mean?” Ned asked.

Mama pursed her lips, and looked at the floor. A deep sadness entered her eyes again. “We tried fightin’ it like that,” she said softly. “I - I took it on once, back in ‘98. Tried to give it so many happy memories that it combusted, but I didn’t - I didn’t know how tough it would be. Y’know what it took? It took stories from me, Ned. I gave up hearin’ stories at my ma's knee, seein’ _Star Wars_ with my siblings, readin’ books for the first time. ‘Course, I’ve gone back and read and watched all those again, but… it’s the memory that’s gone. Can’t remember the way my ma would tell us folk tales; can’t remember what my brothers said, when Obi-Wan died. Can barely remember my sister. I ain’t ever gonna get that back. It wasn’t enough.

“So, you three. You all got your own memories, your own dreams. I ain’t gonna put you through what I went through. I don’t want you all to lose everything to this creature.”

“We don’t have a choice anymore, Mama,” said Duck. He was shaking his head. "Mama, I think... I think it's been going after Indrid."

Mama blinked. "What makes you think that?" she said.

He and Aubrey said, almost at the same time, "His memories." They looked at each other, stunned. Then Aubrey lowered her head into her hands, muttering, _"Shit.”_

"You were eavesdroppin', huh," Mama said flatly.

"Yeah," Aubrey said, her voice slightly muffled. "Sorry."

"No harm done, but keep your ears to yourself next time, hon."

"I was gonna tell her anyway," Duck said. Mama's eyebrows flew up. "Her and Ned."

"That's good, because I am well and truly lost," Ned said. "How's Indrid involved in all this?" Barclay cleared his throat awkwardly and fiddled with a thread on his jeans. Ned looked at him, but Barclay wasn't meeting his eyes.

"His memory's been shot," Duck said grimly. "He was tellin' me about it; the last week's been a complete blur." Mama sighed softly. "I dunno why or how, but it's probably connected to this... thing we saw."

"You're probably right," Mama said. She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Jesus."

"Mama," Barclay began.

"No, Barclay -"

"We have to tell 'em -"

_"No."_

The sudden venom in Mama's voice made everyone flinch. Aubrey actually physically reeled back, sending her chair screeching across the floor. Mama sighed, long and low, and slowly let go of the bridge of her nose. "That," she said, "is none of their business."

"Oh, it kind of is," Barclay said, a steely glint in his eyes that Ned couldn't help but pay attention to. "Now they know. Now it's their business."

"It's Indrid's, not ours, not theirs."

"Mama, he -"

"If it's about Indrid, I can just ask him," Duck said, raising a hand. Mama's revelation had made some of the suspicion lift from him, but he still looked a bit tense. "I'm already helping him out a bit. And I know some... stuff."

"You do, huh," Mama sighed. "Of course, yeah, fine. Fuck it. Talk to him if you want."

"Didn't need your permission for that, but thank you anyway," Duck said wryly. "I'll do that now, if you don't mind." He gathered up his jacket, gave a jerky nod to the rest of the room, and headed back upstairs.

* * *

When Duck hit the top of the stairs, he heard low voices at the end of the hall by Indrid's room.

"I'm so, so sorry -"

"That doesn't mean anything to me anymore," someone said in a soft, fierce whisper. Duck pressed himself against the wall and crept closer. "Indrid, if there's one thing I want to hear from you, it's not an apology."

"Dani," Indrid said in a hoarse voice, "God, I - it's the only thing I _can_ say, I don't know what else to _say_."

Dani was silent for a bit. "Indrid Cold," she whispered. "I just want you to know that that was the last memory I had of her. I hope you're happy with yourself."

"Dani -"

"It wasn't your fault. I know. I _know,_ damn it - but that doesn't excuse the fact that she's gone."

"Dani, wait -"

There were quick footsteps, and then a door slammed. Duck immediately walked around the corner and saw Indrid leaning heavily against the doorframe, shoulders slumped and staring down the hallway, away from Duck. His long fingers had a white-knuckled grip on the frame. Duck walked closer to him; a floorboard creaked under his foot, but Indrid did not look up.  "Hey," he said softly. "Hey, man, are you okay?"

Indrid took a deep, shaky breath, and turned to face Duck. "Duck," he said softly. "Hey." He swallowed and let go of the doorframe.

"Indrid," Duck began - but before he could get any more words out, Indrid lurched forward and into his chest, his lanky arms looping around Duck's neck. "Oof, okay," he whispered, and lifted his arms to hug him back. He could feel Indrid's thin shoulders shaking through the blanket. What felt like a drop of water fell onto Duck's neck, and Duck realized with a painful jolt that Indrid was silently crying.

"Duck," Indrid whispered into his neck. "Get me out of here."

"What - I mean, yeah, of course, but -"

"I need to get out of here," Indrid breathed. "I can't stay. I can't fucking stay, not anymore, not while Dani's still here -"

"Hey, hey, shhhh," Duck said, squeezing Indrid a bit tighter. He rubbed Indrid's back in a slow motion, up and down the line of his spine. Indrid pressed his face deeper into Duck's shoulder. "We gotta talk about this, bud."

"We will," Indrid whispered. "I can't - I can't keep doing this, Duck, I -"

"You won't have to," Duck said softly. "We're gonna... We'll go back to my place. You're going to be fine. Really."

"Okay. Okay."

"I've got you."

* * *

Down the hall, Dani stood with her hand on her doorknob for a long, long time. The shadows of her room pressed in close; the door wasn't shut all the way, and a thin sliver of light sliced across the floor. As if in a haze, Dani drifted towards her bed and turned on the light. There was a picture frame on the bedside table, turned facedown; she sat down on the edge of her bed and picked it up. With shaking hands, she reached out and touched the faces in the picture: identical as two coins, grinning at the photographer, crowded underneath an umbrella in the pouring rain.

She couldn't remember where that picture was taken. Not anymore. But she knew that face, and knew that smile, and knew her name. That was all she had left.

That was all.

The glass suddenly shattered in her grip, and the picture frame warped. Dani's face crumpled, and she set the frame on the bedside table again. She slowly lowered her head into her hands. The bruise on the back of her neck burned like a hot coal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> i'm fully prepared to yeet dani's backstory down the garbage disposal if and when griffin comes up with one, but i've got one written. now we're really getting into the thick of things! this chapter's a bit longer because i go back to school tomorrow, and i won't have as much time to write. but to all y'all who are still in school, we're gonna get through this. we have a little less than a month until christmas. we're gonna fucking make it. i got the whole story planned out, though - i might need to be shouted at a bit to get my ass in gear, but i know exactly where this story is going. so yay!
> 
> we got some more fanart to add to the collection, too! [@andy-allan-poe](https://andy-allan-poe.tumblr.com) has been doing some amazing sketches of characters and scenes in this story: [here's some of their](http://andy-allan-poe.tumblr.com/post/180393774837/at-this-point-might-as-well) [fucking incredible work.](http://andy-allan-poe.tumblr.com/post/180332596407/draw-indrid-cold) definitely go and check out the rest of their art blog, they're incredibly talented and have a lot of great stuff!
> 
> as always, questions, comments, concerns and complaints are always welcome. leave a comment on the way out, or go bother me [at my tumblr!](http://taako-waititi.tumblr.com) I'm always so happy to hear from you guys. thank you all so much for your support. have a great rest of your day! <3


	6. Stuck in the Middle with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you by the song ["Stuck in the Middle with You," by Stealers Wheel,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DohRa9lsx0Q) as well as the google searches "who investigates drug crimes in west virginia" and "west virginia jail sentence for identity theft"

This felt like it was the leadup to a joke. _How many lawyers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?_ How many can you afford? _How many sweaters does it take to keep Indrid warm?_ Too many. Who knows?

As Indrid neatly folded his blankets on the bed, Duck flicked through the closet quickly, some kind of unspoken nervousness twitching in his chest. Indrid sniffled once and grabbed a tissue. There was an urgency to this preparation: it was an escape, of sorts, a rescue mission. Nobody needed to know that Indrid was leaving unless Indrid wanted them to. Duck wanted to hum the _Mission Impossible_ theme under his breath, but stopped himself. The memory of Indrid crying into his shoulder was still fresh, still raw.

"How many of these do you want?" he said softly over his shoulder.

"Enough," Indrid said, clearing his throat. He placed the last blanket they'd brought from his trailer - a new-looking plaid microfiber one, that Duck could practically feel under his fingers just looking at it - on the stack. "To keep me warm, that is. I think it's going to snow tonight." He smoothed the blanket slowly, with one hand, like he was petting a sleeping cat.

"Oh, really," Duck said, taking one sweater off its hanger. It was a deep navy blue, with an intricate four-triangle pattern across the sleeves and bottom hem. It was the only thing in the closet with sleeves long enough to fit Indrid, so he chucked it at him, along with a long-sleeved thermal shirt and a pair of boot socks. Indrid caught them deftly and put them on; his spindly arms got lost in the baggy sweater sleeves. "That good?"

"Very, yeah," Indrid said. He smoothed the front of the sweater, examining the pattern on the bottom half between his thin fingers. It looked almost like two letter B's, but pointy, and facing each other. "Hm."

“What?"

"Nothing, it's just... very soft. I like it," Indrid said, one corner of his mouth twitching in a smile. Duck smiled back and handed him a pea-green parka, as well as a scarf and a pair of bulky snow pants. "Thanks."

"Sure thing. You're gonna - Jesus," Duck said, with a low whistle. Indrid wrapped the scarf around his head and pulled the hood of the parka up, raising his eyebrows. With the parka and snow pants on, Indrid looked like the goddamn Stay Puft marshmallow man. "Can you even _move?_ "

Indrid held his arms straight out to either side. "Ma, I can't put my arms down," he quoted, in a muffled monotone. Duck snorted, and saw the edges of Indrid's eyes crinkle in a hidden smile

Duck gathered up the stack of ten or so blankets on the bed, propped them under his chin, and backed out of the door. Indrid followed, clutching the journal to his chest. The hallway was empty, but every creak in the floorboards nearly made him jump out of his skin. Last he knew, everyone was still downstairs, talking with Mama, but he really couldn't be sure. Behind him, Indrid's breath wheezed through the  scarf wrapped around his face.

As they were about to step into the Lodge's main room, Duck heard a thunderous sneeze. Indrid flinched so hard that he lost his balance and staggered into the wall. Like some kind of shambling slug beast, Agent Stern shuffled into view, wrapped in a blanket and clutching a mug of coffee in both hands.  "Oh, hi there, Duck," he croaked, with that same old bland Secret Service agent grin.

"Hey, there, Stern," Duck said. He tried to ignore the screech of nylon rubbing on nylon behind him, as Indrid tried to duck behind him. "You look... rough."

"I feel like it, too," Stern said, with a hoarse laugh.

"Had a rough morning?"

"You could say that, yeah." Stern coughed and sniffled, and took a sip of coffee. "I... was out for a walk this morning, and fell through the ice in the woods... managed to get myself out, and someone gave me a ride back here, but it was still kind of scary. _Chilling,_ if you will." Duck forced a laugh. "I'm probably going to be out of commission for quite a bit."

"That's awful," Indrid said cheerfully. Duck sighed and closed his eyes.

Stern's eyes flickered to Indrid, who was still hovering over Duck's shoulder. His smile widened. "Oh, hi there," he said, holding out a hand. "I... don't think we've met before, I'm Agent Stern."

Indrid's face, covered by his scarf and glasses, betrayed no emotion, but he still hesitated before taking Stern's hand. "Hi," he said.

Stern gave him a smile that, while bland, had a distinctive edge to it that Duck did not like in the slightest. He wanted nothing more than to push past Stern, hop in the forest service truck, and get the hell back to his apartment. "I haven't seen you around before - I mean, I'm just a guest, but I'm sure I would have -"

"He's new," Duck blurted out. "Just a friend of mine, from, uh. Out of town. Stoppin' by. We were just on our way out to my place."

"Hm." Stern sipped his coffee and gave Indrid another calculating glance. The skin under Duck's collar started to itch. "Y'know, those are _really_ cool sunglasses," he said thoughtfully. "My uncle had a pair almost exactly like those once."

Indrid's shoulders hunched, in a distinctive full-body grimace. "Oh, cool," he said faintly. He could barely be heard through that scarf wrapped over the lower half of his face.

"Would you mind if I took a look at them?"

"Very much, yes," Indrid said. "These are antiques."

"Oh, really?"

"Agent Stern, this is all real nice and all, but we really have to get going," Duck said. "C'mon, buddy, let's get out -"

"Are you _sure_?" Stern pressed. "They're sunglasses, you don't need to wear them indoors."

"They're - they’re, uh, Transitions," Indrid stammered. "They just haven't switched back yet. Duck's right, we really have to go. Nice talking to you!" He gave Duck a not-so-gentle nudge, and Duck staggered forward. "Go, go, go," he muttered under his breath, the words almost lost in the scarf.

"Going," Duck hissed back. They both practically lunged out the door, leaving a bemused Stern staring after them

Duck skidded across the sidewalk outside the Lodge towards his forest service truck; Indrid was a bit more careful, picking his way across the slightly icy driveway. He turned the truck on and flipped the heaters to full blast. Cold air rushed out; Duck winced at the icy chill and flipped the vents to point at the ceiling. Indrid clambered in, struggling to climb in with all his bulky layers, and took so long that by the time he was buckled in the heaters were already warm. "You alright there?" Duck said.

Indrid nodded wearily a couple of times, the parka's fabric screeching. He pulled off the parka's hood and tugged the scarf away from his face, taking a deep breath once his mouth was free. "Yeah," he said. He was still trying to catch his breath. There was a bit of fog on the lower half of his glasses; Indrid rubbed at it with one gloved hand, trying to get the moisture off without removing them. Stern had been so... so _fixated_ on those damn things. As if he knew what they were, and what they were hiding. Jesus, that man was a pain in the ass. Duck wondered what his deal was. "Okay, let's go."

Indrid reached out and gently nudged some of the air vents to point towards him, his fingers lingering on them. Duck's hand landed on the steering wheel, ready to drive off, but something stopped him. Indrid's face was flushed in the steadily-warming air of the car, a soft pink hue spreading along his cheeks. He saw Indrid take a deep breath and exhale through his mouth, his lips parted, and Duck's grip tightened on the wheel. The world became soft in his ears.

"Duck, you alright there?"

Duck blinked. Indrid was looking at him, his brows furrowed over his glasses. Duck opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't quite summon any words.

Then the walkie-talkie, in its holder on the dashboard, let out a squelch.

 _"Duck, you there?"_ said Juno's voice.

Duck cleared his throat and grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Yeah, 'm here," he said. "What's up?"

 _"Finally,"_ Juno said in an exasperated voice. Duck grimaced. _"Been tryin' to get a hold of you for a solid hour and a half, man. Where've you been?"_

"Just out at the Lodge with some friends," Duck said. "I... I'm sorry, Juno, I was a little tied up -"

_"No, you're fine, I understand. No harm done. I just... jeepers, Duck, we got a massive fire in the Eastwood Campgrounds. Someone's camper up and exploded."_

Duck and Indrid locked eyes. Indrid grimaced. Duck made sure his finger wasn't on the talk button and whispered, "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"It's fine," Indrid whispered back.

"We shoulda tried to save it -"

"Duck, that thing was almost old enough to retire and get Social Security benefits. It's fine, really."

_"Duck, you there?_

"Yeah, yeah," Duck said into the walkie-talkie. "Uh. Jesus, that's really... is everyone okay?"

 _"Come down to the station, and I'll give you the run-down,"_ Juno said. "We might have to run a report, we might not - we'll see. They might be sending someone in from Charleston to -"

"From _Charleston?_ Jesus Christ, what do they think happened in there?" Duck said.

 _"C'mon down to the station, and I'll tell you,"_ Juno said. _"We might have to go out tomorrow and write up a report, once the Feds are done combing it over -"_

Indrid froze. "The _Feds?_ " Duck said, alarmed. "Wait, Juno, what the hell -"

_"You're sure doin' a lot of repeatin' over there, Duck - just come on over and I'll give you the rundown, alright? Shouldn't take too long."_

"Yeah, okay. That's fair. Be right there." Duck took his finger off the talk button and sighed heavily, putting the walkie-talkie back on the dash. Good fucking grief. "The Feds," he muttered, shaking his head. "Christ. I'm gonna kill Stern."

"I don't think that was Stern," Indrid said slowly. Duck glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. "I've been just down the hall from the main room the whole time I've been here. Sound travels in this place. He didn't go near the phone once."

"Yeah, but..." Duck scrubbed a hand over his face. "I still don't trust 'im."

"Neither do I, Duck. Neither do I.”

Indrid cleared his throat and unzipped his parka. It was starting to get a little warm in here, for sure, Duck thought; he angled some of the heating vents towards the roof again. "You going to head over there now?" Indrid said.

"Well - yeah, I guess, but..." Duck sighed and put the car in drive, rolling out the Lodge's driveway. "I don't wanna leave you in the car, in the cold by yourself. D'you wanna stop by my place first so I can drop you off?"

"No, it's fine," Indrid said. "I don't wanna make you go out of your way more than you have to. Yes, I'm sure," he added, when Duck opened his mouth. "It doesn't sound like it'll take too long."

"Indrid -"

"You can leave the keys," Indrid said. "I'll run the heater."

Duck sighed, and gave him an unimpressed glare. "Fine," he said. "But if you get sick, it'll be your fault."

"Entirely fair," Indrid said, with a quick grin. Behind him, the snow-covered pines flickered past the window. Duck returned the smile and drove on.

The parking lot of the ranger station was full of sheriff vehicles; Duck could barely make out Juno's own forest service truck parked at the front in the reserved spot. The cops all seemed like they were leaving, anyway - Duck stopped to let a few cars pass by, and waved to someone that might have been Deputy Dewey. They returned his wave, though, so it probably was. Duck parked next to Juno's truck and reached for the door handle -

"Hang on, one sec."

He paused. "Hm?"

"Come here.”

Indrid tapped him on the shoulder, and Duck turned around. He started brushing soot and bits of ash off of Duck's forest service coat. "You look like you went through hell," he muttered, picking a twig out of Duck's collar. "Juno doesn't need to know that you were anywhere near the fire, she'll start getting suspicious."

"Oh. That's fair," Duck said. He swallowed hard as Indrid's hands swiped at his shoulders, getting the last bits of ash off his coat.

"Just be grateful that I'm not attacking you with a wet napkin," Indrid pointed out. He frowned at Duck's face, reached out, and gently swiped away something on Duck's cheek. He grimaced. "Oops."

"What?"

"I made it worse. Gimme a sec -" Indrid swiped again, his fingers ghosting over Duck's short beard. His fingers were surprisingly soft, and Duck found himself almost relaxing into the touch. "You're kind of a lost cause as it is," Indrid said quietly, "but this is the best I can do."

"That's fine," Duck croaked.

Indrid carefully pulled some ash from Duck's hair, rubbing his fingers together to make sure it was gone, and leaned to one side to see if there was anything he'd missed. "That'll do," he said quietly. He adjusted Duck's collar from where he'd messed it up, but paused before he let go. "I...”

The weight of Indrid's hands on his shoulders was driving Duck up the wall. "What?" he said. Indrid took a deep breath, sighed, and looked up at Duck. There was a perplexed yet open look in his eyes that somehow amplified everything in the truck: the rumble of the truck's engine, a ghost of nutmeg from the blankets in the back seat. The memory of Indrid's soft hand on the side of his face slammed into him with full force, and Duck swallowed.

Then the radio squelched again, and they both flinched. _"Duck, I can see your damn truck parked outside, get in here,"_ Juno said wearily. Duck gritted his teeth, fighting back an unreasonable surge of irritation.

"You should go," Indrid said quietly. He let go of Duck's collar.

"Yeah, yeah," Duck sighed, and opened the truck door. "I'll be right back." He headed for the entrance to the ranger station, carefully walking across the sidewalk to avoid the patches of ice the salt hadn't been able to melt away. The whole while, he felt Indrid's eyes on the back of his head.

Inside the ranger station, Juno was sitting on the edge of her desk, talking to a couple of tired-looking firefighters. The whole room smelled like smoke. They nodded at something she said and headed for the door; Duck stepped out of the way, giving them a polite nod, and headed over to Juno's desk. "Hey, Juno," he sighed.

"There you are," Juno said, with a bit of a wry grin. Her clothes were smudged with soot, and Duck could see ash tracked into the carpet. "Sorry to call you in on the weekend, I really don't wanna be here either, but... good grief, this is gonna be a mess. Forgot how bad things can be in the winter."

"You're right about that," Duck said. Things were always kinda tough in the winter months, after the summer camping rush died down. You got complacent, you took it easy - and then, out of nowhere, there'd be a car accident or someone falling through the ice, or... well, or a camper going up in flames. The things that happened in the winter always felt worse somehow. Like a boulder getting chucked in a lake. "So," he said. "What's... what's goin' on?"

Juno sighed. "Well, a camper blew up," she said grimly.

"Jeepers."

"Yeah, that sums it up. Didn't look like anyone was inside, but it torched the Eastwood Campgrounds real good. Good news is, it's not our investigation anymore."

"Oh, really?" Duck said faintly.

"Yeah," Juno said. She sounded relieved. "All we gotta do is write up a report on damages, send that to the main offices. Sheriff Zeke took one look at that big ol' blaze and called in a unit from Charleston -"

Duck blurted, "How come?"

Juno sighed heavily. "They're running forensics," she said. "A, to see if there was a body in there and it just got torched - and B, because ol' Deputy Dewey made one little joke about _Breaking Bad,_ and they wanna comb the place for weed-growin' shit or - or, y'know, meth."

Duck almost went completely boneless with relief. God - when Juno said that the Feds were coming in, he was picturing an army of Stern clones wielding sensors and Bigfoot-sized cages, not the fucking _narcs._ "Oh, phew," he said. Juno was giving him a funny look, so he cleared his throat and put on a vaguely concerned expression. "I mean, wow, that's... pretty gnarly. You think they're gonna find anything?"

"Nah," Juno said, waving a dismissive hand. She was still looking at him funny. "I really doubt it. But yeah, just wanted to... ya know, give you the run-down on what's happening. Once the Feds clear out, we'll have to run our own report on damages to send out East -"

She cut herself short, sighed heavily, and said, "Damn it. Sorry, Duck, I just - you've got dirt or ash all over your jacket, or somethin', what the hell's all that about?

Duck swallowed. "Well -"

"It's just distractin' the hell out of me, that's all," Juno said. "You - you weren't anywhere near that big ol' fire, were you? That was a hell of a mess."

Well, fuck. Duck cleared his throat and crossed his fingers, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. "Well, I was, uh," he began. _The best lies are always rooted in truth, Duck,_ said a voice in the back of his head that sounded a hell of a lot like Ned. "Helpin' a friend move."

Juno raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"And, um, their... water pipes burst? And their apartment got flooded and frozen over, and y'know, it ain't fun living on an ice rink, so they are. Uh... movin' in with me, I guess?"

Juno's other eyebrow slowly went up. "That don't explain where the ash came from," she said slowly.

"Gettin' there, gettin' there," Duck said. The corner of Juno's mouth twitched. "My friend, uh. Had a fire? In the fireplace - yeah, the night before, and the coals and shit were still kinda hot, so... I was clearing out the fireplace so the place wouldn't burn down?"

Juno looked like she was fighting the urge to burst into laughter. "Right," she drawled. "Duck, is there somethin' you're not telling me?"

Yes. "No?" Duck said. "Why d'you ask?"

A grin spread across Juno's face. "You sound like you're a... pretty good friend, let's say," she said.

Duck covered his face and groaned, "Juno..."

She cackled; Duck heard her keys rattle, as she tossed them in the air and caught them. "I'm gonna head on out to the scene, 'n I'll be back in a few. You still helpin' your friend move?"

"Yeah, actually, he's out in my truck right now."

Juno grimaced. "Oh, shit, y'all were still doin' that when I called you?" she said. Duck nodded. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Well, shit. Guess you better go take care of that, then - feel free to leave when you want. I'll hold down the fort here 'til this all clears up."

"Thanks, Juno," Duck said sincerely. "Really 'preciate it."

"Of course you do," Juno said with a grin. "Good luck with your... _friend._ " He scowled at her. Juno grinned and winked, before tossing her keys one last time and heading out the door. Duck sank into the desk chair and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Criminy, that was awkward as hell. He really hoped Juno wouldn't stop to chat with Indrid; that'd require a hell of a lot more explaining. Hell, who knows, they might even get along.

The phone on the other side of his desk rang. Duck pushed off the floor and let his chair glide back, picking up the phone. "Kepler Ranger Station, how can I help you?" he said wearily

An unfamiliar, slightly clipped voice responded. _"Yes, hello, this is Carter Miller, looking for Duck Newton,"_ he said, in a curt, rushed voice. Duck was about to interrupt, but Carter went on, sounding more irritated by the second: _"I'm calling from the state archives - I just wanna continue a discussion we had earlier today, regarding some files he wanted to look at."_

Duck's eyebrows flew up.

_"He said he would call me back, but he never responded, and when I called him back at 'Amnesty Lodge' someone named Barclay picked up - said Duck would probably be at the ranger station. Could you tell me where he is?"_

Duck's eyebrows felt like they were going to soar right off his forehead. Hoo boy, this did not sound good. It was a good thing Barclay had gotten that call instead of Ned, because knowing Ned, he would…

Wait. Duck pinched the bridge of his nose. Jiminy Christmas. This had Ned's fingerprints all over it - and if this tiny, niggling suspicion was anywhere near close to hitting the mark, then Duck would be in some serious shit.

There was only one way to do this.

Duck took a deep breath, put on his blandest customer service smile, and said into the phone, "Yeah, Duck Newton's not in the station right now."

 _"Oh,"_ Carter said.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Duck said. "I can take a message for him if you'd like -"

 _"I'm afraid I can't give information to his_ secretary _, sir,"_ Carter said, with a haughty sniff. Duck's eyelid twitched. _"This regards some strictly confidential information, Mr..."_

Fake name, fake name. Uh. Fuck. Duck's eyes landed on a couple cans of soda sitting on top of a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. "R. B. Surge," he blurted out. _Damn it._

 _"Arby Sarge?"_ Carter said slowly.

"Yeah, close enough - look, I get it that you don't wanna throw all that information around willy-nilly. That’s entirely fair. Lemme - here, how 'bout I give you his email address, and you contact him there," Duck said. "He responds better to that anyhow."

_"Mr. Sarge, I thought Monongahela is in the middle of the National Radio Quiet Zone. Do you guys have internet out there?"_

"Sure. Bad, but it's there," said Duck. "He'll get back to you soon enough on that. Does that work for you?"

 _"I suppose that's sufficient,"_ Carter said, sounding distinctly resigned. That was better than annoyed, though; Duck gave himself a mental pat on the back. _"Hit me."_

"Gladly," he said, and read off his email address. Ned would just have to kiss his almighty ass on this one - if Ned was really to blame for this whole situation. "He'll get back to you in a couple of days, we had some stuff go down recently -"

 _"That's very nice,"_ Carter said, in a voice that suggested the exact opposite. _"Have a good day, Mr. Sarge."_ And he hung up. Duck took a deep, exasperated breath and set down the receiver, running a hand through his hair and severely resisting the urge to start pulling it out. God. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like something Ned would do: use the name of a government employee he knew to get records on someone, without fuckin' _telling the government employee what the fuck was goin' on._ Jesus. Duck felt his stomach turn. He could get fired for this, if it went wrong. What the hell was Ned thinking?

He gritted his teeth and picked up the receiver again, dialing the number for the Lodge.

Surprise, fuckin' surprise: Ned was the one who picked up. _"Amnesty Lodge, how can I help you?"_ he said, in that cheerful, buttery voice of his.

Duck smiled. Though it felt a lot more like a grimace. "Hey, there, _Ned,_ " he said. "I got an interesting call today."

_"Oh?"_

"Yeah. From someone named Carter Miller in state archives. Said he was callin' about some kind of... phone call I'd had this morning, about a records request. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

* * *

In the Lodge, Ned slowly sank down onto the sofa. After Duck had left in the middle of their talk, it had kinda fallen apart; Jake had finished patching Barclay up, Aubrey had drifted to her room, and Mama had gone into her office. Barclay was currently rummaging around in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Ned was alone in the main room of the Lodge, and had automatically picked up the phone when it started to ring. Even Stern was nowhere in sight - probably off defrosting himself in the hot springs, or something. Ned silently hoped he drowned.

"Hm," he said. "Lemme think."

 _"No, Ned, you don't have to think,"_ Duck's voice said on the other end. Jesus, he sounded ticked off. Ned guiltily rubbed the back of his neck. _"Jesus, Ned, I know it was you."_

"Well, good," Ned said. Then he realized what he said. "Shit."

_"Yeah! Yeah, shit is a pretty good word to describe it! What the hell were you even looking for?"_

"Dirt on Stern, of course!" Ned said nonchalantly. Duck groaned. "I figured if I could, shall we say -"

_"There's no fuckin' 'we' about this, Ned -"_

"- follow the breadcrumb trail," he went on, "I could track down where he went to high school. Kids always do dumb shit in high school."

 _"I'll say,"_ Duck muttered.

"Maybe I can scrape up something grimy on the guy," Ned said, "spread it around, and chase him out of town! That's all I was thinkin'. That was literally it."

 _"Yeah, well, I guess you didn't think it through quite well enough,"_ Duck said sharply. _"Ned, I love you to death, but Jesus Christ on a candy cane crutch, now you got me looped up in this."_

"Yeah."

 _"You might not be on the books, but I sure as hell am, as a_ government employee, _no less. I could get fuckin' fired for this, Ned - hell, I could get thrown in_ jail."

There was a note of panic in Duck's voice, now. Ned took a deep breath and sighed. "Yeah." That was true. God. The more he thought about this, the more like a bad idea it sounded - and Jesus, he should've learned by now that acting on impulse was rarely a good idea. He sank back a bit into the couch. "I mean, technically, you were an unwilling, innocent victim -"

 _"Oh, nuh-uh,"_ Duck said. _"If the Feds do some digging, interview a few people, maybe... hell, I dunno, check the motherfucking caller ID system, they'll know I fielded the call Carter made to the station. I'm tied up in this too, Ned, whether I like it or not. And I don't - I just - how'd you even know who the fuck to call, anyway?"_

"Oh, it was simple," Ned said. He slowly twirled the end of his beard around his finger. "I listened to Stern talk a couple of times - and you know that man, he never shuts up - and if you listen _real closely,_ he's got a bit of a West Virginia drawl to him."

 _"Oh, really,"_ Duck said flatly.

"Really! _And,_ get this," Ned said, with a proud grin, "I memorized the name on his badge, when he showed it to us. Just called up the state archives, gave ‘em that name and your ID number -"

 _"You gave them my government ID number?”_ Duck yelped.

Ned winced and held the receiver away from his ear a bit. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said.

 _"Ned, that's_ identity theft! _Jesus Christ -"_

"It was the best idea I had at the time!" Ned exclaimed. "I - I didn't expect it to actually work! I just gave him Stern's name -"

 _"And a conveniently left-behind government fucking identification card,"_ Duck snapped. _"I'm never taking my coat off again, mark my fucking words -"_

" - and it got me way further than I thought, okay?"

Duck took a deep breath. _"Ned, I had to pretend to be my own fucking secretary, okay?"_ he said. He gave an irritated sigh, and Ned felt a bit of guilt surge up. _"I - Christ. I don't know how long you're gonna be able to keep this con goin', man. This is..."_

He fell silent. Ned heard a faint rustling sound, and a creaking chair. "Yeah," he said, fiddling with the ends of his beard again. "Sure is."

And, not for the first time in his life, he found himself having a dilemma.

Robert Frost said it best: two roads diverged in a lonely wood, and Ned had to pick a path. He sighed and stared at the painting above the mantel, without really seeing it. It really did boil down to two options, didn't it? (Besides the unspoken third option, which was pack it up and run out of town as fast as he could. But he couldn't do that. Not anymore.) Either way, he wanted Garfield Kent Stern to get the hell out of Kepler.

Two choices: lie to Duck and say he'd end the con, but really keep it going; or back out of it for real, for Duck's peace of mind. This little grift was actually getting places way faster than he'd expected, but now he was well and truly in it. Was it too late to back out now? Or would that just make things worse?

The kitchen door swung open. Barclay shuffled out stiffly, holding two mugs of tea. He'd changed his shirt for something not so torn-up, and was moving a lot slower, wincing every now and then if he moved his body weird. Barclay held out one mug to Ned; he got up and took it, with a faint smile. Earl Grey again. Ned wasn't really a tea person, but that flavor was starting to grow on him. "Thanks," he mouthed. Barclay smiled back and sat down on the couch next to him, sipping his own tea. Ned squinted at the label, but couldn't quite make out what kind it was.

Barclay sighed softly and sipped at his tea. Ned watched him through the steamy haze - took note of the dark circles under his eyes, and the way the grey hair at his temples seemed to have doubled - and sighed. He wondered how many of those grey hairs were there because of him, and that whole mess with the Bigfoot video - something that, until recently, he hadn't felt bad about. He toyed with the tag hanging off his own teabag, creasing the paper idly between his fingers.

"You alright?" Barclay whispered, raising an eyebrow. Ned grimaced in response.

In his ear, Duck said, _"You still there, Ned?"_

Ned sighed. "Yeah, I'm here," he said. And he made up his mind. "Listen," he said to Duck, "I - you're right."

Duck paused. _"Really?"_

"Yeah, I know, big shocker. Listen, I fucked this up, and - " Ned glanced over at Barclay, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "I wanna try and unfuck it, okay?"

_"Still at my expense, though, right? Ned, I don't want anything to do with this, and you know it."_

"Yeah, well, too bad," Ned said sharply. Barclay flinched a little, and hot tea sloshed onto the couch. Ned gritted his teeth and looked at the ceiling; police lights flickered in his mind, glancing off the metal of a car wrecked on a roadside, and he started to feel a bit nauseous. He saw a house going up in flames. "I can count the number of times I've done something right in my life on one hand, okay? I get it. Ruining lives is what I do best. But for fuck's sake, let me try and break that streak, and fix something I've done wrong. Okay?"

Ned didn't realize that his voice had been rising until he stopped talking, and the silence - on both ends of the phone - rang in his ears. Duck was quiet for a long, long time. _"Okay,"_ he said at last. He sounded a bit shaken, to hear those words come out of Ned's mouth, and hell - Ned was feeling weird too. He didn't know where it'd come from. _"I - I hear you. I... told Carter to send whatever he found to my email address, and I'll forward it to you when I get the chance. I won't open the files on my end, in case it's trackin' that, but I'll send 'em straight to you."_

"Thank you," Ned said.

_"I'll... I'll foot the bill for any fees they charge, too."_

"Okay."

 _"Just... fuck,"_ Duck said. _"I don't wanna get involved in this too much, but Ned, I - you're my friend, okay? We're gonna try and get this taken care of."_

"Yeah. Am I forgiven for stealing your wallet?" Ned said.

 _"Absolutely not."_ It sounded like Duck was smiling, though, so Ned let it slide. _"I'll keep you posted on whatever happens on my end. Let me know if Carter calls you again, we need to run interference on him."_

A car horn honked in the background of Duck's call. _"Oh, shit,"_ Duck said, alarmed. _"I gotta go, I forgot - I got someone in the car -"_

"Oho," Ned said, grinning. "Picking up a date, Mr. Newton?"

 _"Shut up, it's just Indrid,"_ Duck snapped. Barclay choked on his tea.

"You're not helping your case."

 _"I said shut up, Ned, or I swear I'll turn you in,"_ Duck said, with no real heat behind his words. Ned threw back his head and laughed. _"A'ight. Gotta go. See you in a few."_

"Sure thing, Duck. Have a good one." Chuckling softly and shaking his head, Ned hung up.

Barclay sipped his tea and gave Ned a look over the rim of his mug. There was a Band-aid wrapped around his ring finger. "What was that about?" he said, setting the mug down on the coffee table. "You got, uh... sounds like your little con is having some trouble."

"A bit, yeah," Ned said.

"Heard something about a stolen wallet and identity theft," Barclay said flatly. "Care to explain any of that?"

Well. Ned scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well," he said. He looked around, making sure nobody was listening in. "Uh. Lucy doesn't work at the archives anymore, she moved out west, so... I... might've pretended to be Duck to get around the new guy. Needed his wallet for that..." He grimaced. That definitely sounded bad.

Barclay's eyebrows had been slowly sliding up this whole time; when Ned finished, he let out a low sigh and put his head in his hands. "Good fucking grief," he muttered. "Ned Chicane, I'll make sure to block out some time to visit you in prison."

"Thanks for your love and support, dear," Ned said wryly, giving him a friendly push in the shoulder. Barclay gave him a baleful glare, but his mouth twitched, and he started to shake with silent laughter. Ned snorted. Soon enough they were slumped against each other on the couch, laughing hysterically. Their mugs of tea sat forgotten on the table in front of them.

* * *

The drive back to Duck's apartment was short and uneventful. Indrid seemed to sense that Duck had a lot of things on his mind and stayed silent, watching the town flash past outside. Kepler's streets were short, dim and twisty; the asphalt was crumbling slightly, and storefronts were shoved right up against the curb. He stared out the passenger-side window, nose pressed right against the glass. Coiled on the seat between them, Beacon hummed softly to the old rock song playing on the speakers, but he was about as tone-deaf as a block of wood. Duck reached for the volume knob to turn it off. He needed to get some new CDs.

"Clowns to the left of me," Beacon said tonelessly, and Duck cringed. The noises coming out of his mouth could barely qualify as singing, they were so off-pitch. "Jokers to the right -"

"Hey," Indrid said, offended.

"Guess I'm... stuck in the middle with you," Beacon said loudly.

Duck turned the radio off. "For the love of all that is good and holy in this world, don't ever sing," he ordered. "Do that again, and -"

"Yes, Duck Newton, I recall," Beacon drawled. His segmented metal body rippled like a coiled snake's. "Down the garbage disposal I go. A threat you have yet to follow up on."

"Okay," Duck said. He flicked his turn signal on - even though there wasn't anyone behind him - and turned into the parking lot for the Lake Ridge Apartment Complex. "Then I'll break a hole in the ice in the lake out back and throw you in."

"You wouldn't dare," Beacon said flatly. At the window, Indrid smiled and covered his mouth with his hand, still looking out the window.

"Oh, I will, mark my fucking words," Duck said. "Ice is thin enough. I could do it..." He pulled into his parking space and turned off the truck. "Alright, Indrid. Here we are - home sweet home."

"Very... nice," Indrid said slowly, looking up at the ramshackle apartments.

"Nah, you can be honest, won't hurt my feelings," Duck said. It wasn't a _complex,_ per se - just a couple of townhomes, split into apartments, clustered at the edge of the lake just outside of Kepler. Kepler didn't exactly need a million different places to live. It wasn't exactly hot real estate. Not unless you were a cryptid. He got out and started digging Indrid's blankets out of the back seat. "You got everything?"

"Yeah, I'm good here," Indrid said. He opened the door and slid out into the parking lot, scanning the parked cars with a wrinkle between his brows. A gust of wind blew across the asphalt, pushing small pebbles and ruffling the fake fur around the hood of Indrid's parka. It was as if he was looking for something.

Duck walked around the front of the truck. "You alright?" he said, adjusting the blankets in his arms. Their weight felt strange. The last time he'd held those blankets, he realized, Indrid had been wrapped in them, and it felt bizarre somehow to see Indrid not cocooned inside them - like the world was shifted just slightly to the left. He gripped the stack of blankets a bit tighter.

Indrid nodded once, still looking at the parking lot and the street beyond. He drummed his fingers on the journal, still held close to his chest. "Yes," he said softly. "Just peachy -" He coughed slightly, the sound coming from deep inside his chest, and cringed. "Ooh. That didn't feel so good. Let's head on in?"

"Sure thing."

Duck headed for his apartment - a second-floor unit, with windows in the back that faced the lake - and shifted the blanket stack to one hand, rummaging in his pocket for his keys. Indrid cleared his throat and pressed closer to the door, brushing up against Duck's back. "I got it," he said quietly. His hand slipped into Duck's pocket and pulled out the keys.

"Oh, thanks," Duck said, a strange dryness in his throat. He coughed. "It's the -"

"Silver one with the numbers on it, yeah," Indrid said. He reached around Duck and opened the door, fumbling with the keys a bit but otherwise doing well. Duck gave the door a solid push - the door was a bit too big for the frame, and sometimes it got stuck - and it creaked open, bouncing off the wall.

Almost immediately, Winnie came trotting up to them, chirping up a storm. Indrid made a faint noise of surprise. "Hey, girl," Duck grunted, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. She pressed her head into his palm and purred. "Oh, huh - bad time to ask, but are you allergic to cats?" Duck said, turning around.

Indrid slowly closed the door behind them and hung up his parka, his eyes fixed on Winnie without blinking. "No," he said slowly. "Do - uh, Duck, do cats normally do that?" Duck looked down. Winnie was staring at Indrid, unblinking, pupils so dilated her eyes were almost completely black. "Your cat's not some... special freaky Chosen One-type familiar, is she?"

"Rescued her from a dumpster three years ago, so let's go with no," Duck said dryly. He stepped out of the way, letting Winnie and Indrid stare at each other. "Go on ahead 'n pet her. She, uhhh... usually likes strangers, I dunno what the big deal is -"

Indrid leaned forward and gently reached out a hand. Winnie cautiously edged forward, whiskers twitching, and sniffed his fingers. She didn't immediately start scrubbing her face all over his fingers, though, "Maybe she just doesn't like the smell of nog," Duck said.

"Or Sylvans," Indrid suggested. Duck grimaced. Hm. That might be it. He leaned forward a bit; his Sylvan crystal swung forward, and Winnie reached up to smack it. "Ooh! Yikes, don't touch that," Indrid said, alarmed. He tucked it inside his collar; Winnie watched it disappear with a baleful glare. "Don't want you going all Sylph-y on us." He reached out again, and this time Winnie let him pet her. "Soft," he said, sounding a bit surprised. He smiled faintly as Winnie scrubbed her cheeks against his fingernails, purring.

"Yeah, she's a beaut," Duck said. He cleared his throat again, his chest feeling strangely tight. "So, you wanna... I dunno, eat something?"

"What do you have?"

"Let's find out, I guess." Duck stopped by the living room to dump the blankets on the couch, and headed for the kitchen, flicking the lights on as he went. Winnie trotted along behind Indrid, meowing softly and playing with his shoelaces. There was rustling fabric and a soft grunt; when Duck turned around, Indrid had picked up Winnie and was holding her in his lanky arms. Winnie had gone wide-eyed and silent, staring at Duck with a vaguely panicked expression. She'd probably never been picked up by someone as tall as Indrid in her whole life. "Huh," Duck said.

Indrid raised his eyebrows - and sneezed. Winnie's ears went flat against her skull. "Sorry," he croaked at her, scratching the side of her head. "Cat hair."

"Sure you're not allergic?"

"I just accidentally inhaled a bunch of it, that feels like a valid enough excuse," said Indrid. Duck nodded. Fair point; Winnie was some kind of ragdoll mix, with shaggy golden hair and big blue eyes, and her hair got _everywhere._ Juno had given him a box full of lint rollers as a gag gift for his birthday this year. "So...

"Yeah - food." Duck opened the fridge, then the cupboard. There wasn't much in either - a couple of boxes of ramen, frozen dinners, a handful of vegetables and breakfast cereals. Milk, orange juice. Then Duck saw an unopened carton of eggnog - probably left over from New Year's - tucked in the back behind a bag of spinach. "Hey, looks like you're in luck," he said, pulling it out and sliding it across the counter to Indrid.

The other man put down Winnie, who immediately tried to smack the carton off the countertop, and picked her up again, moving out of reach. "Oh, thanks -"

"But - a man cannot survive on nog alone," Duck intoned, grabbing a couple Cup Noodles from the pantry.

"What are we, college students?"

"Don't diss the food of the gods," Duck said. "While you're here, would you mind giving Winnie something to eat? She gets real clingy when -"

"Ouch," Indrid hissed.

"- when she's hungry - see, just like that," Duck said, as Winnie started trying to claw Indrid's shoulder to death. "Can's in the fridge, just give her a spoonful, if you could -"

"Will do, Duck."

Darkness came early in the winter. Outside, a fine dusting of snow was starting to accumulate on the windowsill. He knew it was a full moon out there, somewhere behind the clouds. Duck couldn't help but think about those things these days. Their lives revolved around the phases of the moon so much; he had every other full moon circled on his calendar, and made sure Beacon was in a bloodthirsty mood when abominations were scheduled to appear.

As he filled the Styrofoam cups with hot water from the tap, Duck stared out the window, not quite seeing anything at all. The streetlight on the opposite corner was still flickering. Just like this morning. He squinted out the window at the gathering dark, feeling unease crawling over his skin. The moon had been out this morning, big and bright; he remembered its light slanting down into the parking lot, the alleyways, shimmering on Winnie's fur as she hissed at the shadows -

Hot water spilled over onto Duck's hand.

He cursed and set the noodles on the counter. "I'm gonna rustle up some space heaters," he said to Indrid, who was rummaging through the fridge for Winnie's food. Duck turned on the furnace and headed for the hall closet, where he had spare space heaters stored; the furnace whirred to life, blowing dust throughout the room. "Indrid, I'm gonna get you set up in my room, alright?" he shouted over his shoulder, his arms full of small space heaters.

There was a clatter in the kitchen, as if someone had dropped a spoon. "Sorry, what?" Indrid shouted hoarsely.

"My room," Duck said. "I'll take the couch - this room is smaller, it'll conserve more heat."

"Oh." Indrid sounded... slightly troubled. "No, I don't want to give you any trouble -"

"It's fine! The couch is comfy!" It really wasn't - Duck knew that from experience - and there was no way in hell that Duck would let Indrid crack his back on that piece of garbage. He'd been looking around for a new sofa on Craigslist, but no luck. Lots of haunted dolls, but not many couches, and not a lot of people willing to deliver all the way out in Kepler.

He heard the sound of a spoon being tapped on a plastic bowl, and a garbled meow as Winnie started to eat. Indrid started murmuring something to her, and Duck smiled faintly. He went around the room, turning the space heaters on. "Duck, seriously, I'll be fine on the couch," Indrid said.

"Indrid -" Duck turned on the last space heater -

There was a pop, a low electric whine, and all the lights went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick announcement before i forget (((valid 11/29/2018 only))): **if you're going to the Denver MBMBaM liveshow tonight, hit me the fuck up in the comments!** look out for a chick with long brown hair and glasses in a white parka - or, if i've taken that off, someone who looks like a cold mormon on vacation. i have a hawaiian shirt, i have a black tie, i'm gonna be wearing both of them at once. i will look like an affront to god. i have second row and center seats. nobody can fucking stop me.
> 
> no long author's note for y'all today, i'm writing this in the middle of astronomy right before our finals, so i gotta yeet real quick. as always, feel free to yell at me in the comments, or on my tumblr [@taako-waititi.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com) have a great day, everyone!


	7. A Rooted Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Macbeth, Act 5, scene 3 - been reading a lot of that lately: "Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory **a rooted sorrow** , raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the fraught bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart?" Seemed appropriate for this one.

Getting old sucked.

Ned never had the best body to begin with, but days like today really made him feel like his joints were full of glass-spiked concrete. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, staring balefully at the cupboard of tea over the stove. The kettle boiled. It had been about an hour since he'd spoken on the phone with Duck, and the night was growing thicker outside. There was a raw, bruised ache deep down in his chest that he vaguely recognized as hopeless exhaustion - but that was the thing about getting old. Natural fuckin' entropy. Any emotion you felt would immediately translate into your body, and make you feel like absolute shit, even more than you already did.

God. Today had been a long-ass day. Ned took a deep breath and reached for a random box of herbal tea. The movement made his shoulders ache, and he sighed.

Behind him, the door slowly creaked open; Barclay's shuffling footsteps moved towards the pantry, and returned. He put a loaf of bread, some peanut butter, a jar of honey on the table. "Making toast," he said quietly. "You want some?"

"Yeah," Ned said.

Barclay glanced at Ned's face, frowning slightly, then at the cabinet. "...Might wanna try the chamomile," he said. "Or - no, hold up -" He reached over Ned, his elbow nearly resting on Ned's head, and grabbed a box of Sleepytime tea from the back. Barclay dropped the box into Ned's hand and went back to the toaster. Ned turned it over, examining the artwork. His fingers caught on the box's crumpled edges.

"You doin' okay there, Ned?" Barclay said.

Ned looked up, startled. "Oh," he sighed, "been better. Just got a few aches and pains... it's been a bit of a long day."

The corner of Barclay's mouth twitched. "Yeah, sure has," he said. He softly drummed his fingers on the countertop, in a rhythm Ned couldn't quite parse, watching the toaster. There was a large Band-Aid plastered across the back of his neck. It made Ned's head hurt to see it, as if bruised, and he glanced away. "I... know the feeling."

"Mm." Ned dropped in a teabag and picked up the kettle.

The drumming stopped. "Ned," Barclay said, and paused. Ned set down the kettle and looked up from his mug. Barclay's mouth was twisted in a grim, sour line, and he was staring unseeing out the window. It was starting to snow. "Can I ask a favor?" He glanced away from the window, his eyes boring suddenly into Ned's, and Ned swore that he'd take that strange twist he felt in his chest to his grave.

He swallowed. "Yeah, buddy, what's up?"

Barclay sighed, and glanced towards the door. He moved a little closer. "How much d'you have in the Cryptonomica in the way of... raw data, 'n stuff like that?" he said in a low voice.

Ned scratched his beard. "Hmm, I dunno," he said slowly. "I've got a whole bunch of filing cabinets in the back, from the last person who owned the place. Never really had the chance to go through 'em. Why d'you..." He trailed off. There was a bit of a hollow look in Barclay's eyes, and it made him fall silent.

"Y'know how - this afternoon," Barclay said, "the... abomination took a chunk of my memory?" Ned nodded. "Well - it, uh. Took a lot of important stuff. It got its claws into me long enough to take the memory of nearly half the places I've been in the past fifty years."

Ned saw where this was going. "Barclay -"

"No, Ned - I'm just askin'. One of these days, would you mind if I stopped by the Cryptonomica to go through those files?" Barclay asked. "There's... stuff I need to know. I just need it to trip my memory a bit, fill in the gaps."

Ned cringed, and scratched his neck a little. "Uh, Barclay," he said, laughing awkwardly. "I... I've got a whole Bigfoot exhibit, with a map and everything, but that, uh... ha-ha, it doesn't really paint you in the best light."

"Well, back then, I wasn't exactly the best man either," Barclay said, with a wry smile. "Did some stuff I regretted."

"Wait, I thought -"

" - I forgot? No, no, I remember _what_ happened in perfect detail, that shit's at the front of my mind all the time," Barclay said. "I just don't remember the places. I need to get a refresher to get my story straight, so I don't slip up. Havin' all that information gone is just..."

"A problem," Ned said feebly.

"Yeah." Barclay sighed heavily and looked down at the countertop. It was a bit chipped, but clean enough for his reflection to shine in it.  "You'd know the value of keepin' your story straight, I figure."

"In theory, yes," Ned said slowly. Barclay raised an eyebrow. "In practice, not really. Haven't had a personal narrative with truth in it since I graduated high school." He paused and added, something anxious fluttering in his stomach, "The only thing straight about me is the straight line of bullshit I give people every day."

Barclay snorted, and a grin spread across his face. It really transformed him, that smile, making the skin around his eyes crinkle and his eyes glow. "Guess I can say the same," he said.

Relief flooded through him. "I'll drink to that," Ned said, lifting his mug in a toast. He went for a drink and coughed as the dry teabag smacked him in the face; he'd forgotten to add water. Barclay snorted again; Ned nudged him in the shoulder and reached for the kettle. The toaster dinged softly, and Barclay grabbed the pieces, slathering them with peanut butter and honey. Weird choice, but Ned could get behind it. He watched the steam swirl above his mug of tea.

A thought flickered through his mind. His smile slowly faded. The quiet noises Barclay made as he puttered around the kitchen faded into the background. Ned picked up his tea and stared out the window above the sink, watching the snow drift down. He and Barclay were strangely alike. Tired old men with shady pasts, doing their best in the world.

What would it be like if Ned was in Barclay's place right now?

In his mind's eye he could see Barclay, shirtless on the table, the wounds the abomination had left on him still red and raw and oozing blood. He didn't envy him that part; it looked like he'd been through hell, and jeepers creepers, Ned did _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that. But the abomination... Ned stared at the snowflakes accumulating on the windowsill, without really seeing them. 

The tail end of his conversation with Duck flitted through his mind, and he grimaced. _"I said shut up, Ned, or I swear I'll turn you in."_ Duck had been kidding. He'd been joking. They were friends. It was just a goof. That didn't mean it didn't send a stab of panic through Ned's gut, thinking about going to jail. God. Even on bad days, Ned found it hard to feel guilty about all the stuff he'd done in the past. But knowing that some of the shit he'd done had hurt people that he - dare he say it - was starting to care about? That hurt. Barclay and that video, Duck and the shitstorm with Stern's records, hell - even Aubrey's house. Christ. Aubrey's fucking house. Ned ran his finger along the rim of his mug.

He wondered, for the briefest split second, what it would be like if the abomination got a hold of him. What he would do.

Would it really be a shame, forgetting? He could feed the thing the memories of every heist he'd ever done, every damn thing he'd stolen, every night on the town with Boyd, every shot fired and every cop he'd escaped. Take that weight off his old soul. Hell, he'd never even been caught, not until that snafu with Victoria and the Cryptonomica way back when. It wasn't like his name was on the books anywhere. Even if people caught up with him, if he'd lost all the memories of his crimes, he'd ace every fuckin' lie detector test known to man.

Wouldn't that be nice? Not knowing?

"You want banana slices on your toast?"

Ned flinched at Barclay's sudden voice. "Huh?" he said blankly.

Barclay waved a knife in his direction, holding a half-sliced banana in the other. "This stuff helps me sleep," he said, putting a couple of slices on his own toast. "Figured you might want a couple."

"Hm. Fine, hit me."

His voice came out strangled, tense. Barclay seemed to notice, and looked up again. "Ned, seriously, are you alright?" he said. "I -"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ned sighed. "Just... thinking -" He cleared his throat. "Barclay, about the Cryptonomica."

Barclay raised his eyebrows. "Hm?"

"You... don't have to come."

"What -"

"As much as I'd love to have you stop by," Ned said - and goddamn, his voice came out a lot more sincere than he was intending. He ignored the strange look on Barclay's face. "You... don't need that on your conscience. Hell, half those disappearances they say were your fault? Probably weren't even done by you. You're not your past, Barclay, you're better than that."

But the words sounded hollow coming out of his mouth, and it seemed as though Barclay noticed. The other man sighed, a weary look passing over his face, and set down the knife. "Ned, you're a fuckin' hypocrite."

"Maybe so, Barclay." Ned took the plate of toast that Barclay passed him, not meeting his eyes. "Maybe so."

* * *

He was gone. Jesus Christ. Aubrey ran her hands through her hair and gripped hard, resisting the urge to just start yanking it out, and ducked under the dining room tablecloth. She sneezed as dust flew into her face, and squinted between the table legs. No dice. No beady red eyes, no fluffy white tail, no giant ten pound New Zealand white rabbit. Jesus, the little guy was good at hiding. Last she'd checked, Dr. Harris Bonkers was sleeping in her room, but she'd lost track of him after today's bom-bom run-in. 

But seriously. She loved the little guy to death, but _seriously._ She'd turned the place upside down - except for the kitchen, Ned and Barclay were in there and she wasn't going to mess with _that_ \- and was doing another pass through the dining room. She was sure she'd heard him in here. "How the hell do you lose a rabbit the size of a cat?" Aubrey whispered to herself. "Ugh, I hate this -"

She heard claws scrabbling across the floor.

Aubrey hit her head on the underside of the table, cursed loudly, and dragged herself out. "Dr. Harris Bonkers!" she hissed. A fluffy white tail disappeared around the corner. "Get back here!" She tried to run after him but only managed to skid across the floor; all she had on her feet was a pair of soft fluffy socks. Not great for chasing fugitive rabbits.

And damn, the little bugger was _fast_ . Dr. Harris Bonkers didn't seem to be having any trouble with the polished floor; once he hit the carpeted hallway, he was off like a shot, running straight for Aubrey's room. She pumped her fist in triumph and chased after him. Okay - hopefully she'd be able to corral him in her room, and he would _stay there,_ and she'd finally be able to get some rest -

Dr. Harris Bonkers took a sharp left and dove through another door, which was cracked open slightly. Aubrey stopped short, but kept going, and skidded into the wall. "Fuck," she breathed. Dr. Harris Bonkers had run right into Dani's room.

The door to Dani's room swung open, hit the wall, and slowly started to close. Inside was dark, with only a single dim lamp breaking the shadow. Almost immediately, Aubrey knew something was wrong; Dani normally talked softly to Dr. Harris Bonkers, as if he was a person, whenever he came hopping by - but there was no sound. Aubrey swallowed hard and, against every instinct she had saying otherwise, followed him in.

Dani was sitting on the edge of her bed facing the door. She looked up, eyes wide. "Aubrey," she breathed, her face panicked. "Shit, I -"

"Sorry," Aubrey said. Oh man, this was - Dani's eyes were red, and her face was streaked with tears. "God - uh. Are you okay?"

Dani sighed.

"Dumb question, I know, I'm sorry," Aubrey said, cringing. "I... if you need a minute, I can just grab Dr. Harris Bonkers and go, I didn't mean to come barging in -"

"No, it's fine."

Dani's voice was hoarse and quiet. She sniffled, pushed her hair away from her face, and said, "It's okay. You can stay." She paused and looked up. "Please," she added, in a soft voice, and Aubrey couldn't find it in herself to say no.

She nodded and closed the door. The room was dark and dusky; through the gap in the curtains, Aubrey could see snow drifting down, and Dr. Harris Bonkers' fluffy white tail was poking out from underneath them. She sighed and scooped him up - he sniffed a bit haughtily and shifted in her arms, but showed no other signs of annoyance that he'd been caught - and slowly sat down on the bed next to Dani. There was broken glass in Dani's palm and on the floor.

"Here," she said softly, and reached for the glass in Dani's palm. Dani startled slightly, but opened her hand and let Aubrey take the glass. Aubrey tossed the fragments into the trash can; they vanished when they hit the bottom, like the trashcan in Indrid's borrowed room. "Dr. Harris Bonkers has been running circles around me all day."

Dani said nothing.

"I tried to hunt him down, but he kept running away from me," Aubrey said, scratching the offending rabbit behind the ears. "Turned the place upside down so many times... I almost stopped by the kitchen, but y'know what?"

Dani said nothing.

Aubrey laughed a little, if only to break the silence. "Ned and Barclay were talking in there with the door closed. I mean - they do that all the time, just stand around with their old man tea and talk about old-man stuff -"

The corner of Dani's mouth twitched.

"- but _man,_ they took forever. At least they're getting along now, though, that's a plus," Aubrey added. "Man - I thought Barclay was going to punch Ned right in the face, when Stern came in after the video got out. Have you seen Stern, by the way?"

"He's around," Dani said softly.

"Oh, that's a shame. Barclay and I think he might've been rooting around Indrid's camper -" Dani inhaled sharply, and Aubrey glanced over. "What? Oh - fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to remind you about - this afternoon -"

"It's fine," Dani said, through gritted teeth. She sighed and put her head in her hands. "Fuck, who'm I kidding, of course it isn't," she muttered. "Criminy. Jesus, Aubrey, I'm sorry, but... could you not bring him up? Just thinkin' about Indrid makes me want to rip my spine out -"

"Whoa!" Aubrey said. "That's a little intense, are you - fuck, okay, I shouldn't have said that. Dani, I..." She trailed off. Dani was looking at her with an eyebrow raised. "I just don't get it. Why don't you like him?" she said softly. "I don't - I mean, it's not really my place to say, but man, you just seem to hate his guts for some reason."

"I don't hate his guts," Dani said in a small voice. Dr. Harris Bonkers' ears twitched a little. "I -"

"Dani, I just want to understand," Aubrey said quietly. She tried to look into Dani's eyes. The emotions swirling in them were too wild and unnerving to pin down. Too raw. It felt like she was approaching a wall socket with a metal fork. "We - Indrid's kind of our friend, but I really don't know much about him, and... if he's done anything to hurt you, I don't wanna, you know, endorse that..."

Dani was quiet for a while, just looking at Aubrey. The dim lamp behind her head set the edges of her head on fire, like a halo. At last she sighed, and looked away towards the bedside table. "Okay," she said quietly. "I - you're right, you need to know. Not just because of Indrid 'n all that, but because... well, it's about this bom-bom we've been fightin'. This is kind of a long story, and it's gonna hurt to drag it all out, but I understand if you wanna hear it -"

"If it's going to hurt you, then please don't," Aubrey insisted. She put a hand on Dani's shoulder; Dani stared at her, eyes wide. "If you -"

"No, I want to," Dani said. She visibly swallowed and closed her eyes, as if steeling herself for a massive blow. She reached for her bedside table and picked up a picture frame, lying facedown on its surface. "You need to know."

Dani slowly picked up the picture frame and held it in her lap. Bits of broken glass were all that were holding the photo in place; she gently pulled it out and held it up to the light. Aubrey looked over, and her breath caught in her throat. It was an old black-and-white picture of two young Asian girls with long hair, standing in the middle of a quickly-dispersing crowd. They looked just like Dani. Both had brown hair. They were sharing an umbrella and laughing into the camera, holding hands and wearing flower crowns and headbands, while around them a steady rainstorm fell.

"Is that -"

"That's me," Dani said, pointing at the girl on the right. God, it really was her - dressed in a flowing peasant blouse and ratty khakis, with a headband wrapped around the crown of her head. "And -" Her finger shook as it moved to the other girl. "That's my twin sister."

Aubrey's eyebrows flew up. "You have a sister?"

Dani was silent for a while. "I did, yeah," she said.

And it all hit Aubrey like a truck. In her shock, she almost dropped Dr. Harris Bonkers. "Oh," she breathed, staring at the other girl in the picture. Something hot and heavy swelled in her throat, and she wiped her eyes, which had begun to sting out of nowhere. Had. _Had_ a sister. "Jesus."

Dani sniffled again and turned the photo over. Scrawled on the back in faded pen were the words "Dani and Evie at Woodstock, 1969." Okay, the hippie clothes made a lot more sense, now. Dani was pretty crunchy; it shouldn't have been a surprise. Still - Aubrey had no idea that Dani was that old. Her eyes flickered between the photo and Dani again, trying to match them up. Dani's roots were brown, even though the rest of her hair was a soft, warm blonde; she hadn't noticed it before. Dyed hair solidarity, woo-hoo!

"We came over in the 50s," Dani said quietly.

Aubrey sobered and looked back at the photo. "When the gate was in Oregon. It... it was just the two of us for the longest time. We went up and down the coast - lived with some Asian families, did some work in restaurants and family-owned stores. We met Barclay in the mid-60s in Portland, when he was visiting his cousins, and he convinced us to come out here, so we did. Had quite a few more Sylvans here for some reason; think the gate might've been in the Kepler area a handful of times before."

"Barclay's been around that long?" Aubrey said, surprised.

Dani nodded. "Yeah, he's been here since... hell, almost a couple hundred years," she said thoughtfully. "His cousins had been here for much longer; he was kinda the baby of his family." Aubrey noted the past tense with a bit of dread, but said nothing. "Anyway. Evie and I went over here, hung out with Barclay and Mama, and - and Indrid, and that was that."

The paper started to shake. Aubrey gently took the photo from Dani's hand and scooted closer. "Sounds like you two were close," she said awkwardly.

"We were, yeah," Dani said thickly. She wiped her eyes. "Now this - this is the part that you need to know about," she said, her voice shaking a little. "The Pine Guard wasn't exactly a thing until 'bout the late 80s, when the gate showed up and abominations started comin' out. There were a lot more of us back then, but..." She trailed off. "That abomination," she whispered. "That one y'all saw in the camper; the one that got Barclay. It got nearly half of us - it got Lenny, Ashe, Morgan, Elena. Evie. And it was -"

Her voice was starting to sound sharp. Aubrey opened her mouth -

There was a faint pop somewhere outside, and the bedside lamp flickered out - but there was a faint whirring somewhere deep below them, and the light went back on. They stared at each other. "What was that?" Aubrey breathed.

"I dunno," Dani said, frowning. "The - the power might've gone out, we've got a backup generator in the basement 'case that shit happens."

Aubrey passed Dr. Harris Bonkers to Dani - who took him and held him in her arms like a baby, which was just damn adorable - and went to the window. She whistled lowly. The snow was really driving down, now, and the world outside the lodge was pitch-black. Down the hill in Kepler, every single light had gone out. "Yikes," Aubrey said. "Looks like the power went out everywhere else."

"Oh, yikes," Dani said. She stroked Dr. Harris Bonkers' fur, staring at a spot on the floor.

Aubrey drifted back to the bed and sat down. "Yeah. So," she said awkwardly. "Where were we?"

Dani grimaced, her hand stilling on Dr. Harris Bonkers' fur. "Abomination," she said, voice thin. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and was silent for a long time. "It got my sister. Killed her. And it was - it was all Indrid's fault."

Aubrey stared at Dani. "What do you mean?"

Dani's jaw set, and she looked at Aubrey with steel glinting in her eyes. "There are things," she said, "that Indrid forgot. And there are things he never told us. And there were things that none of us knew until it was too late."

"Tell me," Aubrey breathed.

And she did.

* * *

The darkness of the apartment was sudden and absolute. Duck let out a slow, shuddering breath, and heard the sound echo in his ears. The air of the room was cold as chilled steel against his skin. "Fuck," he breathed.  _"F_ _uck."_

The cord to the last space heater was still in his hand; the plastic chilled his fingers. He let go and jammed his hands into his pockets, staring around. Okay. Power outage. Let's see, let's see. There were candles and a lighter in his desk drawer, and spare blankets in the linen chest at the end of his bed. Flashlight in the bathroom. Plenty of canned food and stuff in the pantry. This would be fine, this would be fine -

Then he heard a voice, hoarse and shaking. "Duck?"

Oh, fuck, he'd almost forgotten about Indrid. Winnie meowed softly. There was a soft thump, as if someone had leaned hard against the wall. "Duck, what's going on?" Indrid's voice said. Duck dropped the space heater on the ground with a clatter, immediately yanked a comforter off his bed, and ran for the door. He could see Indrid's silhouette huddled outside, pressed against the wall and shivering.

Without a thought, Duck went straight for him and wrapped the comforter around Indrid's shoulders. Indrid stumbled into him; Jesus, he really was shivering a lot. "Shit, man, you're okay," Duck said. "It's okay. It's okay, it's okay - d'you need another blanket?"

"I don't know," Indrid breathed. "I don't - I d-don't -" He gritted his teeth and groaned, leaning into Duck. "Goddamn it, I can't _t-talk,_ it's so _fucking_ cold -"

"It's okay, don't talk if you can't, man," Duck said. "Here, c'mon. Let's go in my room, I got more blankets in here."

He slowly led Indrid into his bedroom, one arm locked around Indrid's waist to keep him from falling over. Indrid had a vicelike grip on his wrist; his cold fingers were like handcuffs. Winnie followed along behind them, meowing nonstop. "I know, I know, girl, gimme one sec," Duck said, leading Indrid to the bed as best he could. He took a step, and Winnie let out a yowl. "Fuck!" he yelped. "Sorry, Winnie, I didn't mean it -"

Indrid let go of him briefly - Duck's grip tightened around his waist - and there was a brief sound of rustling cloth. His Sylvan crystal emerged from his shirt, casting a soft orange glow over a small bit of the room. They were very close; Duck could see Indrid's jaw chattering, and wrapped the blanket a bit tighter around him. "T-there," Indrid said, and sank down onto the bed. Duck glanced around and winced. If he'd taken another step, he would've run straight into the bedside table.

The glow of Indrid's crystal just barely shone on Winnie's glinting eyes. Duck glared right back at her. "I said I was sorry," he said defensively. Winnie's ears twitched, and she turned around and left, her tail twitching.

Behind him on the bed, Indrid had wrapped the blanket around himself even more, until he was just a nose and a pair of glasses peeking out. And God, he was still shaking. Duck went for the cedar chest at the foot of his bed and grabbed a few extra blankets. "Here," he said softly.

Something fell over in the kitchen. Both of them winced, but Indrid flinched particularly hard. "Probably just Winnie knockin' something over," Duck said, putting the blankets down.

"Do you have Beacon?" Indrid said quietly.

"Yeah, sure, he's clipped to my belt right here," Duck said, tapping the sword. Beacon, surprisingly, said nothing. He started to unfold the blankets, draping them around Indrid's shoulders. "Indrid, man, we're gonna be fine. The power just went out."

"You have Beacon," Indrid repeated - as if he was telling himself that, to ease his mind. Under the blanket, Duck saw the light of his crystal glimmering on the metal pen for his journal. "You have him. O-okay. Good."

He took a deep breath and hunkered down further into the blankets, hugging them closer to himself. "Duck, I'm - I'm sorry I didn't tell you this was going to happen," he said softly. "My - my head's been -"

Duck felt a cold weight sink into his stomach. "Indrid -"

"It's not the abomination, I don't think," Indrid said. "It just..." He let out a long sigh and turned away. He was silent for a long, long while, before saying, "It reminds me a... bit too much of a couple nights ago. Saturday. Same thing happened." Oh, Jesus - Duck immediately felt bad, because he honestly should have known. Indrid had almost died that night, for all he knew, and of course this would have reminded him of that. Not a good night for anyone.

"My head's been fucking with me," Indrid said, in a low, raspy voice. "I'm not... feeling so good. I couldn't foresee it, I'm sorry, I -"

"That's okay," Duck said quietly, patting Indrid on the shoulder. Indrid looked up at him; the glow of his crystal lit his face from underneath, casting the lines of his face in sharp shadow. "I'm here. You're gonna be fine."

"Thanks," Indrid said.

And then Winnie hissed in the kitchen.

Duck was out of the bedroom in a flash, Beacon held in one hand. He barreled down the hall to where Winnie was hissing in the kitchen; it was pitch black, and he stumbled into the wall with a curse. At first he thought the moon had emerged from the clouds, and was shining through the window, casting the apartment's kitchen in a muted blue glow. But then he turned the corner and saw a familiar glowing silhouette, standing sheepishly in a puddle of spilled ramen as Winnie hissed from the countertop.

"Ah, fuck," he said, and lowered his sword.

Minerva gave him a sheepish wave. The clock in the corner, gleaming in the light from her spectral form, read 6:14. "Good evening, Duck Newton!" she said cheerfully, in that voice of hers that made her sound like everything she said was capitalized. "I apologize if I've come at a bad time! It's awfully dark in here."

"Yeah, the power's out," Duck said. He sighed and put Beacon on the counter, who let out a slightly disgruntled grumble and curled up again. "Listen, Minerva, I don't think we're gonna be doin' any training tonight, I'm sorry."

Minerva's jaw lifted a bit; Duck assumed that she was raising her eyebrows. "What do you mean, Duck Newton?" she said. "I understand, the hour is late, but now that your destiny has been arriving a bit sooner than you expected, you must -"

"Minerva," Duck hissed. _"I have company."_

"What, at this hour?"

_"Yes."_

There was silence for a bit, as Minerva digested his words. And then she threw back her head and laughed. God, that was weird when she didn't have a face. "Oho, Duck Newton, I see!" she said happily. "You have a _guest!"_

"Please, keep your voice down," Duck said flatly. "I've had a long day."

"But Duck, this is so interesting!" Minerva gestured broadly at the room, presumably at the whole apartment. "You rarely have everyone over for company!"

"Minerva. Volume, please, I have neighbors."

"It's almost like a wasteland in here, Duck Newton!"

" _Minerva -_ "

"Tell me, is this company here for business or -"

"Finish that sentence, and I throw Beacon in the lake and never get him back out," Duck warned, waving a finger at her. Minerva chuckled. "It's a bit of both. No. Ple - business. No - _fuck_ -"

"Duck _Newton_ -"

"Just stop, alright!" Duck threw his hands in the air and leaned against the countertop. "Christ, Minerva, I just have one of my friends over, because his camper fuckin' _exploded_ -"

Minerva slowly lowered her arms.

" - and there's been a - a fuckin' memory-eating monster from the depths of hell, chasin' after us and trying to eat everyone's lives."

"What," Minerva said flatly.

"Memory-eating monster from the depths of hell," Duck said. "Like I said, we've been a little busy."

Minerva hummed once, tapping what Duck assumed was her lower lip with one finger. "It seems the timing is wrong, Duck," she said thoughtfully. There was a troubled note to her voice that Duck didn't like in the slightest.

"Yeah, no shit. We weren't expecting an abomination for a whole 'nother month, but apparently this gnarly bastard's been out for almost 20 years."

"Interesting. What does it look like?"

"Hell incarnate," Duck said dryly. Minerva gave him an unimpressed look, which was just as effective even though she didn't have a face. "Like a - Jesus, how to describe it - kinda like a ribcage? A giant one? But just the ribs, with six wings attached, mostly made of smoke 'n shit like that, and with giant glowin' eyes. Would you..." Duck trailed off, but changed his mind. Fuck it, it was a long shot, but he'd try it. "You wouldn't happen to know anything 'bout that, would you?"

All Minerva did was fold her arms and stare at the floor. "Hm," she muttered. "Hm."

"What?"

"...Have you tried killing it?" she said.

The way she said it made Duck think she already knew the answer to that question, but he answered anyway. "Sure have," he sighed. "Beacon can testify to that. It can't be killed physically - you have to force-feed it happy memories in order to make it combust. As you might be able to guess, none of us are too happy 'bout that."

"No, I would assume not," Minerva said glumly. Duck frowned as she straightened up and looked around the room, giving Winnie a lackadaisical wave. Winnie's eyes dilated just a bit, as if she could actually see her. Who knew if she could or not; some cats were smart. Winnie always had a bit of a hair-trigger sixth sense, but that didn't mean it wasn't accurate sometimes. "Well, Duck, I - this is quite odd," she said heavily. "I understand that you do not wish to train tonight, and that's - that's quite alright, I understand the... _special circumstances_ -"

"Yeah, yeah," Duck said.

"- but I'm afraid I must be leaving," she went on. "What you've told me is certainly concerning, Duck, I - I may have to do some research on my own world. I don't believe I have quite enough answers for you."

Duck blinked. "Wait, how come -?"

"I'll let you know when I'm done," Minerva assured him. There was no doubt about it; Minerva looked well and truly worried now. "I don't mean to alarm you, Duck, I just want to - to corroborate some of the things you've said. I won't interrupt your activities tonight any longer."

"Wait, Minerva, hang on a sec -" Duck reached out, but Minerva's soft blue glow vanished, and he was left standing in shadow once more.

Winnie hopped off the countertop, sniffed the air where Minerva had been, and lowered her head to sniff the ramen puddle. "Hey, no," Duck said, picking her up and shooing her towards the door. "That's illegal, don't do that." He grabbed a roll of paper towels and started mopping up the spill. The stuff was still hot; hopefully the same could be said for the other one. He'd be fine without food tonight - Indrid needed to stay warm tonight if he was going to make it through okay. Duck threw the sodden paper towels into the trash, grabbed Indrid's noodles on the countertop, and headed back to his room.

Back on the bed, Indrid had uncurled himself slightly from the blankets and was writing hastily in his journal. His Sylvan crystal pendant swung over the journal, casting it and him in soft orange light. Duck went over to the bedside table and pulled out a candle and the lighter, keeping an eye on Indrid as he did so. "Here's your soup," he said, passing it to him.

"Thanks," Indrid whispered. His voice was barely audible in the thick silence. Duck put the candle on the bedside table - a nice scented one his sister had sent him for Christmas, it wasn't half bad - and lit it. That helped a lot; not only did the room light up a little more, but it started to smell like baking vanilla cookies. Duck watched the flame flicker for a few seconds.

Indrid said slowly, "Do you... have any pencils, by any chance?"

"Uh..." Duck dug through the drawer and came up with a couple unsharpened wooden pencils. "I have these - how many - oh, okay," he said, when Indrid reached over and took two. And he watched in horror as Indrid set his pen down, arranged the noodles like chopsticks in his left hand, and started to _eat his noodles_ with the _fucking pencils_ \- "Indrid, what the _fuck?"_

"You didn't give me a fork," Indrid said, around a mouthful of noodles.

"I - I could've gotten you one!"

"I didn't -" Indrid swallowed the noodles, coughed a couple of times, and continued eating. A thin line of broth dripped down his chin. "I didn't want to make you run around for me too much. Here - you can just sit in the bed, come on. It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes, come on. It's alright." Duck slowly tugged back the covers on his side - which Indrid had, either by coincidence or thoughtfulness, left empty - and slipped into bed. 

Indrid wolfed down the last of the noodles, steam fogging his glasses - Jesus, that man was hungry - and slowly drank the broth. Duck fiddled with the edge of the blanket, trying his best not to look at the lines of Indrid's neck as he tipped his head back. "Thanks for the soup," he said, when he was done.

"Yeah, no problem. You need anything else?"

Indrid sniffled. Duck immediately passed him the box of tissues from the bedside table. "I may not be a mind reader, but you sure are, Duck," Indrid said, with a soft smile. "Thank you."  Duck swallowed, feeling a warm flush creeping up the back of his neck. Indrid set the empty Styrofoam cup in the trash can, on the other side of Duck's bed, and picked up his journal again.

Duck glanced over at it. He'd put a pretty big dent in the journal's pages, since Duck had last seen it this morning; Indrid had gotten through almost a quarter inch of pages since then. But the silence surrounding them was so thick, broken only by the hiss of the burning candle and Indrid's soft labored breathing, that Duck couldn't bring himself to ask why.

Then Indrid coughed a bit, and set the pen down in the spine of the journal, letting the pages close on it. "I'll be right back," he croaked, pulling his crystal out again as a makeshift flashlight. "Just gonna - use the bathroom real quick. Want me to grab anything from the kitchen for you, or -?"

Duck shook his head and made a face. "No, I'm good," he said. "You do whatever, I'll get anything I need."

"If you're sure," Indrid began.

"I'm sure, I'm sure." Indrid nodded and left the small bedroom, gently closing the door behind him. The room felt strangely empty now that Indrid had left, however temporary that was, and Duck sat in silence and stared at the closed door. He could hear Indrid's footsteps shuffling down the hall, a muffled pleased exclamation as he said hello to Winnie, and another door close.

On the pillow next to him, in Indrid's nest of blankets, the journal - jammed open by Indrid's pen - slowly fell open all the way. Its pages rustled. Duck's fingers itched to take it; he wanted nothing more than to just leave it there, because hadn't Indrid said that he'd been writing down things he didn't want to forget? That was deeply, deeply personal, and not something that Duck quite wanted to dig into. It would be like holding Indrid's brain in his hands. He didn't know if he wanted to do that.

But the pages were still turning, pushed apart by the pen used as a bookmark. And Duck saw, scattered among the pages as they slithered past, drawings. Sketches. And what looked like a spitting image of - of _Dr. Harris Bonkers._ Why would - Duck frowned, and picked up the journal to get a closer look. He turned to the page he thought he'd seen the rabbit's drawing on, and gasped quietly. "Oh, wow," he said, looking down at the pages. Jesus. Holy baby Jesus sleeping in a manger.

There was Aubrey, rendered in excruciating detail, from her worn-out combat boots to her dyed pompadour undercut. She was holding Dr. Harris Bonkers with one hand and shooting a finger gun at the edge of the page with the other. Flames were coming out of her finger. Scrawled over her head in small, neat letters was the sentence, _This is Aubrey Little. She is very cheerful about almost everything in life, and is trying to find her place in the world. She is a good person, though a bit jumpy and impulsive. She is your friend._

Added in parentheses underneath: _The rabbit is up for debate, since you haven't met him yet, but sounds like he's quite nice._ Huh.

There was a neat column of words next to Aubrey's drawing. Indrid had managed to cram two lines of text into the space between lines on the page; his words grew cramped and a bit skewed as they went down the page, but Duck could still read them. Indrid had written about Aubrey, and what she had shared of her past. He described her sunglasses, the reason for wearing them, every patch she had on her jacket, the colors of her eyes. It was incredibly detailed, and Duck turned the page to see if there was more.

And he came face to grinning face with Ned Fuckin' Chicane.

 _This is Ned Chicane,_ said Indrid's handwriting over his head, with an arrow pointing towards him. _He may come off as a lying cheating grifting scumbag, but he is a good man._ Duck snorted. _Give him the benefit of the doubt, but stand your ground regardless. He is your friend._

Ned had his own little paragraph about his life: almost on the wrong side of 60, once owned a Lincoln Continental Mk. III, has a criminal past. There was space underneath, almost as if Indrid was planning on going back and adding more if he got the chance. The drawing of Ned himself was rendered in excruciating detail: his bushy beard, the somewhat-neat jeans and ratty sports coat with a T-shirt that read "I Went Looking For Bigfoot And All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt," with the Cryptonomica's logo underneath. His hands were jammed into his pockets, and he was grinning right at Duck. There was a note with an asterisk next to his head: _may have been present 11.22.63._ The date seemed familiar to Duck, but he couldn't quite think of why.

And there was more. Pages on Dani, Barclay, Jake, Mama, even a few names and faces that Duck didn't recognize. Leo Tarkesian was somewhere in there, too, as was Dave, and Todd from the water park. All with their own little paragraphs; all with their own sketches, drawn so lifelike that Duck thought they were photographs.

_This is Barclay. He enjoys drinking herbal tea and knitting. He is a grandma. Call him that, and he will roll his eyes. Point out that he stares at Ned Chicane whenever he stops by, and he will punch you, but not too strong. He is your friend._

_This is Jake. He is a happy kid who just wants to do his best. People should let him. He snowboards a lot, and proudly proclaims he is the only teenager left in the country who knows how to use a payphone. Once he ate snow covered in maple syrup, and tried to get you to eat it too. It was quite good. He is not a close friend, but he is a good kid._

_This is Mama. She is a kind-hearted soul with a protective streak, and has devoted her life to the Lodge and the Pine Guard. One time she almost punched Ronald Reagan in the face. She does not like warm eggnog. Remember this. She does not like warm eggnog. She is not your friend, but once was, and can be._

A couple of the pages stuck together, as Duck tried to turn them, and he was faced with a sudden wall of cramped text. He frowned and peeled the pages apart -

And looked right into his own eyes.

There he was, not once, not twice, but at least four times on these two pages alone - and Duck rubbed the pages between his thumb and forefinger, and even more peeled away, and there he was too. Something in his chest clenched, and he slowly covered his mouth. "Oh, my God," he breathed into his hand, staring down at the journal. His face was scrawled over at least four pages, if not more: in his park ranger uniform, his off-duty clothes, holding Beacon, sipping from a mug of tea. Sitting, standing, leaning against the wall. There were full-body portraits. There were busts. There were studies of his face, and his eyes, and his hands. Messy, neat, lifelike, doodled. It looked like an art student's sketchbook. How on Earth had Indrid done all of these - not just his, but everyone else's - in such a short time?

And written above his head, on the first page, were the words _This is Duck Newton. He is a park ranger with the U.S. Forest Service. He has visions too._ Duck blinked. _He is a Chosen One, and he hates it, but is reluctantly going along. He is the only other person you know who likes eggnog. He is shorter than you, but do not tease him about it. You won't, because you like him._

The words for Duck's entry were sprinkled among the drawings; it was like playing Where's Waldo, trying to find them all. _He likes French onion soup. He has a sister named Jane. He cares a lot about the forest, and can name nearly every star. You can't name half as many as he can. His hair is brown, and his eyes are two very different shades, one blue and one brown. If you had colored pencils, you would draw them._

_He had a vision once, of a pale hand reaching down through inky blackness towards him. You must remember this._

_He has a cat named Winnie. You would die for Winnie. She is incredibly intelligent, and thinks she is allowed to touch your pendant. She is not allowed. That would be very bad._

The words continued on, and on, for almost another page, and Duck felt that warmth in his chest grow until it was almost painful. He flipped back to the first page, stunned. There he was again, smiling softly out of the page in a way that he was sure had never crossed his face before. His hair seemed nicer, his face a bit more handsome than he'd ever thought it was. He looked like a man - someone's vision of a man. There was no way that was how he actually looked.

Then his eyes drifted up to the words above his head again. _This is Duck Newton,_ they said, written in clear, precise script. _He is a park ranger with the U.S. Forest service._ His eyes drifted across the words, and stopped.

_You care about him. You must not forget this. You must remember._

The door creaked open.

Indrid stood frozen in the doorway, staring right at him. The distant reflection of the candle's flame danced in his glasses like two pupils. He was holding two steaming mugs in his hands - Duck wondered for a brief hysterical moment if the power had gone back on, and the two of them were just sitting in the dark like idiots, but remembered that the pipes would still have hot water. That was good, because running hot water would keep the pipes form freezing - and _fuck,_ he was thinking about freezing pipes when Indrid was standing there with an open mouth and two mugs, while Duck held his heart in his hands. 

Then Indrid said, "What's your full name?"

Duck blinked. "What -"

"Your real name, without your nickname," he said. He gestured vaguely in Duck's direction with one of the mugs. "I haven't added it yet, I feel like it would be a good addition."

Duck opened his mouth, couldn't find his voice, and closed it again. "Richard Steve," he said.

Indrid hummed, nodding thoughtfully. "It suits you," he said; Duck nodded and lowered his head. He walked over to the bed and set down one mug, passing the other to Duck. It was full of hot chocolate. "I found some mix in the cupboard," he said quietly. "I hope you don't mind it mixed with water."

"No, that's fine," Duck said slowly. "I - sorry, here," he added, sheepishly holding out Indrid's journal to him. "It was just... sitting there open, and I didn't -"

Indrid slowly reached for it, and paused. Then, he cleared his throat, glanced at Duck, and slid under the blankets; Duck felt the mattress shift under him, and something about that snapped him into another plane of reality. Maybe a more solid reality than what he'd been occupying: one where he knew that Indrid was sitting less than six inches away from him, where he could feel the cold from Indrid's feet radiating through the blankets, a reality where the shining crystal cast their faces into fine, crisp shadow.

Indrid gently reached out and put his hands over Duck's. His fingers were slightly warm from the hot cocoa, and the contact made Duck's skin tingle. Slowly, Indrid closed the journal, his hands still on Duck's, and looked down at their hands with a strange look on his face. Open, yet shut. As if he was reading a book in another language, that he only partially understood.

"There are things," he said softly, his eyes drifting up to Duck's, "that I have forgotten. And there are things that I never want to forget. Because the last time I forgot things -" _the last time the abomination got me,_ he did not say "- people were hurt, and... I can't let that happen again."

"Tell me," Duck breathed.

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gay? in my fanfic? it's more likely than you think
> 
> i told y'all, this is gonna burn slower than a block of concrete! i decided to take a little break from the plot to explore character background, and things are finally coming out of the woodwork. hoo boy, are things going to get rough in the next chapter. dani has some Grade A USDA Certified 100% All Natural Organic Grass Fed Beef with indrid, and that's going to be explored in more detail in the next chapter. i'm glad that a lot of the fic's most important elements are getting underway again, it's about time! and yes, there is going to be barclane and danbrey, if you haven't picked up on that yet. there's not nearly enough content for either of those, and i would die for them in a heartbeat.
> 
> speaking of dani: the moment i saw [@crikadelic's](https://www.crikadelic.tumblr.com) dani design, i immediately fell in love. [she's so fucking good.](https://crikadelic.tumblr.com/post/180607970098/magic-teeth-gf-dani-hcs-shes-lanky-and-like) that's the dani i was thinking of when i was writing this chapter, and that's the dani i'm gonna take to my grave. if you haven't checked out like. everything that @crikadelic has been drawing, you're not living your life to the fullest. all their content is _stellar!_
> 
> also: duck's real name? we came up with that in the discord. richard steve was a) a solid name, and b) has some interesting trivia behind it. the name "richard" means strong in rule, like a king. duck newton is the protector and king of kepler, west virginia. it seemed fitting. and steve is the name of one of the first dudes to see mothman, steve mallette, back in 1966 in point pleasant. just thought that was pretty cool!
> 
> as always, thanks to the discord server for sitting through the livewrite! kudos are appreciated, and comments are like air to me. if you have any theories, want to gush about stuff, have been noticing some interesting patterns, or just plain liked the chapter, please leave a comment! if you want to hit me up on [my tumblr,](https://www.taako-waititi.tumblr.com) you can send me an ask. submissions are open if you want to send in fanart; if not, feel free to just post it on tumblr and tag me in it. thank you all so much for your support!


	8. The Ashminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers: the title of the last chapter was "A Rooted Sorrow." That is a quote from Shakespeare's... Scottish Play, shall we say, which I mentioned by name in the last chapter's beginning notes. All of you theater kids know what that means. The rest of you: you've been warned. You should have known.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by the song ["Have you Seen my Sister Evelyn?"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skUK-OlU4H0) by Evelyn Evelyn. Would you believe me if I said I named Dani's twin sister Evelyn because of this song? because the answer is yes.

Indrid gently took the journal from Duck's hands and put it on the bedside table. "It was June," he said softly. "A little over 20 years ago."

* * *

Dani's fingers sank into Dr. Harris Bonkers' fur. "It was June," she said quietly. "1998."

* * *

Memory is a strange thing. It is a field of weeds and thorns; it is an impenetrable fortress; it is a rusted knife in a kitchen drawer; it is a fingernail gnawed to the flesh. It is the bones of sleeping giants buried under moss. It grows and festers, sometimes, like gangrene in a wound - or it flourishes, climbs up the walls of the cottage in your mind, to blur the edges of the world in a soft green haze.

You don't ever notice it until it is gone.

1998 is a year that should go unnoticed. But for many, it is a cigarette burn in a tapestry, a glaring hole with singed edges that hurts the soul to look at. It does not heal itself. It does not fill in the gaps. Memory is a strange thing.

* * *

"I wasn't always like this," Indrid said softly, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Duck was propped up against the headboard, looking down at him. The light of the scented candle flickered off Indrid's glasses, and his eyebrows were drawn together in a pensive frown.

"I don't... quite know how it happened, or what I was like before, but according to the others, my mind was... different," he said. "And this - this is all secondhand information. I've - the rest was taken from me, Duck. I wasn't told this until everything was over, that June, and by then it was too late to change anything."

* * *

"He wasn't always the way he is now," Dani said. "And we used that to our advantage."

She slowly passed Dr. Harris Bonkers back to Aubrey, and pulled up her feet to sit cross-legged on her bed. There was a hole in the hem of her sweater, and Dani picked at the threads. "Indrid was a member of the Pine Guard back then," she said. "Was a foundin' member, if I remember correctly. Started in - I wanna say 1988, and it's been around more or less since then. He was one of the first to really get that goin', and man, he did his job real well."

"What was his job?"

The corner of Dani's mouth twitched, in something that wasn't quite a smile. "He was Mission Control."

* * *

"I was Mission Control," said Indrid. "Now - Duck, when I say my mind was different, I mean that... I mean that quite literally. There are two major things that I could do. My - my mind experienced time at a slightly faster rate. I would sometimes have to talk quite slowly, at least from my perspective, so that I could be understood; but that meant my visions came through at a much faster rate."

He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses back up, still staring at the ceiling, and folded his hands on his stomach. "So my mind had to adapt."

* * *

"Indrid was able to store the memories of his visions," Dani said. "He had a part of his brain where they were all encoded, and he could go back and look at 'em at will. Really came in handy."

"Huh," said Aubrey. "I - he told us once that his visions were like - like looking at 120 TVs at once, but without being able to see them all...?"

Dani nodded. "Yeah. That's now. But then, he could, say, pause 119 of those TVs and look at one of them. And then pause that, and look at another. Like  - like TiVo? Do y'all still have that?"

"I wouldn't know - a DVR, maybe?"

"Yeah, that." Dani swallowed and went on. "Yeah. So he could look at all his visions at will. And in a blink of an eye, too - it was some seriously cool shit."

* * *

"That's some seriously cool shit," Duck heard himself say.

Indrid laughed quietly. "Yes, I'd like to think so," he replied. "It came in handy many, many times. I - my job in the Pine Guard, in those early days, was to stay back at the Lodge and keep an eye on the visions, while everyone else went and hunted the monsters. I would keep track of their path and tell them what their next best course of action would be in that moment."

* * *

"He really got into the role," Dani said. "Jeepers, he had - he had a headset and everything, with a microphone, and he'd give us orders on ham radios. _X-files_ was real big -"

"Good show," Aubrey said, nodding.

Dani nodded. "Yeah, sure was. He thought it'd be funny if he, like, dressed up in a suit and shit 'n acted like some big shot official agent. We all thought it was hilarious, at the time."

* * *

"I hadn't worn a suit in decades," Indrid said. He sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"A suit, huh," Duck said. Damn, that was hard to picture, especially when the man was wearing an oversized knit sweater and snow pants right now. But he couldn't deny that Indrid would look real good in one. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, trying to clear the thought out of his head.

"Yeah," said Indrid, with a faint smile. "I guess I thought it would be funny."

* * *

Dani fell silent, and took a deep breath. The faint smile - which wasn't quite a smile, Aubrey realized, more of a vague attempt - disappeared. "But it didn't last," she said quietly.

* * *

Indrid swallowed, hard, and hugged his stomach. He stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, as if trying to glimpse something beyond the apartment's roof. "It didn't last," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

* * *

Memory is a strange thing. It is useful when it works, and it is useful when it doesn't. There is nothing quite like it in the world, nothing quite so fickle and quite so absolute. At times, knowing something has been forgotten is a relief - but then, when you _know_ something's forgotten, hasn't it been known again? Dreams on the tip of your tongue; names balanced on your fingers; juggling unseen places and things. It's a strange paradox. But yes. At times, forgetting is a blessing.

This is not one of those times.

* * *

"Barclay was the first to notice something was wrong," Dani said. And that made sense to Aubrey; Barclay was a man who kept to himself, but his silence let him notice things that would escape others entirely. He could tell from a glance if someone was sick, or hungry, or tired and annoyed and just wanted a fucking nap. Barclay knew so many damn things, and saw so much going on. All his little bits of knowledge about everyone could fill the Library of Congress.

"We started fighting this... this thing," Dani said, waving vaguely at the window. "The abomination. We called it the Ashminder. Because of what - what it does to you, if it gets in too deep."

"Makes sense," Aubrey said quietly.

"Indrid'd been tryin' to give us directions - he was lookin' ahead, tryin' to see if there were any instances in the future where someone was losing memories, or gettin' really sick outta nowhere. But  - Barclay, he noticed one day that Indrid was... off."

Dani shuffled backwards until she was sitting against the headboard, and stared at a point just over Aubrey's shoulder. Aubrey watched in silence. "He'd been withdrawing, not talkin' to any of us. He was all closed off. Barclay tried to talk to him, find out what was going on. We - he told us that Indrid'd been having trouble with his mind, that his visions were gettin' clouded. And -" She sighed sharply. "That was a fuckin' disaster," she said.

* * *

"I would have told them," Indrid whispered.

His voice shook, and Duck put a hand on his shoulder. "I would have told them that something was wrong, but I couldn't remember, I couldn't _see_ \- I tried to tell myself to write things down, but I kept forgetting - I - I tried to -"

He coughed suddenly, covering his face with his elbow, and struggled to sit up. A stab of panic went through Duck, hearing how the cough was starting to worsen. "Here," he said, grabbing Indrid's hot cocoa, forgotten on the bedside table.  Indrid clutched it with both hands, shivering - but not from the cold, Duck didn't think. From memory.

"I just couldn't _remember_ ," he breathed.

* * *

Dani's voice had truly taken on a note of bitterness, and Jesus, that made Aubrey's stomach turn. "But by then, it was too fuckin' late," she said. She was still staring at that point over Aubrey's shoulder. "The Ashminder got 'im. Got its claws into him good. And here's the thing. Here's the fuckin' thing, that's so ironic." She sighed sharply, and wiped furiously at her eyes. "He saved all our miserable lives."

"What -"

"He had all those memories, y'know? Me, Evie, Barclay, Jake, everyone else - we just had our one set," she said. "The past. That's it. Indrid? He had it all. Things that were, things that are, things that have not yet come to pass, et cetera. The Ashminder jumped on 'im and just - just fucking went to town. He was like a goddamn Golden Corral buffet. And it fuckin' destroyed him."

* * *

"It destroyed me," Indrid breathed. "It - the thing. The Ashminder." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed his eyes, as if trying to compose himself. The cocoa in his cup rippled, as his hands shook. "It took everything from me," he said. "Towards the end of our hunt, right before that - that one week deadline was up, where the abominations can start roamin' around outside the boundaries - it got me."

Duck could not speak. All he could see were the marks on Indrid's back, the deep pitted white scars up the line of his back, and those lines on his ribcage. And the same things on Barclay's back - but they were red, raw sores, not scars. Indrid's were burned in deep; Indrid's were the marks of days in the Ashminder's talons, as it fed on him. For days, for _days_ -

"The... the part of my brain, that stored and - and encoded memories of the future, it completely destroyed that," Indrid said. "My visions were scattered; I couldn't record them anymore in my mind. It didn't just take the memories themselves, it took my ability to remember. I couldn't parse the threads of visions anymore. Everything slipped away. I - I could barely remember my own _name_ -"

His shoulders started to shake. Something in Duck's chest crumpled, and without thinking, he put an arm around him. Indrid sniffled and put his cocoa on the bedside table, leaning into Duck's embrace, and let out a shaky sigh. "Jesus," he whispered. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Duck said. "It's okay." He slowly ran a hand up and down Indrid's back, in as soothing a motion as he could manage. "You don't have to keep talking about this if you don't want to. I - I understand, I got stuff that I don't always wanna talk about."

"I said you need to know," Indrid said. His voice was muffled, and vibrated into Duck's chest. "You need to know."

"If it's gonna hurt you, then I don't need to -"

"Duck, you need to know, because if I forget I want you to tell me."

Duck froze.

"If I forget," Indrid repeated, his voice soft, "I want you tell me everything I've told you tonight. Because this - this is - it's all important. All the people who fought the Ashminder the first time around - we started with nearly 30, and now we're down to six. Me, Dani, Jake, Barclay, Mama, and Moira. We're on thin fuckin' ice here. And Duck, if this thing is gonna die, you're gonna have to know what we went through to try 'n kill it. I don't want you to make the same mistakes we did. Please."

Silence rang in the dark bedroom, broken only by the sputtering of the candle. Duck took a deep breath, feeling Indrid's head rise off his chest, and sighed. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. You can keep talking. But you can stop whenever you want."

"Okay." Indrid took a breath, and Duck gently squeezed his shoulders. "Okay. Here's... Here's what happened."

* * *

"Here's what happened."

Dani hugged her knees to her chest. "One day, I guess it got tired of feedin' off of him, and went for us," she said. "Like I said - back then, we had so many more people livin' here. And it was summer, so there was family visitin'. All of Barclay's family was here on vacation - his cousins from Oregon, ol' Moggy from Arizona, even a couple of buddies from Canada. It was some serious Harry and the Hendersons bullshit. Let's see -"

She started counting off names on her fingers. "Vanessa  - Loch Ness monster, long story - was still livin' here - she... she's doin' alright, actually, she moved out to Berkeley Springs after all this business was over. The Jersey Devil? Real nasty fella, he hung around here before goin' up north. Lenny and Ashe - dryad and a werewolf, they used to live two doors down from me. The Morrigan - old friend of Moira and Vanessa's - she was on vacation here from Scotland. They were all here. We had so, so many Sylvans livin' here, back in the day."

"What happened to them?"

Dani's eyes flashed to Aubrey's, and the grief in in them was so deep and unexpected that Aubrey felt it deep in her chest. "The Ashminder got them," she said thickly. "It got them all."

She sniffed and wiped her nose. "First it went for Barclay's family," she said. "Sucked 'em dry. That's why you don't hear about 'em so often anymore, there aren't that many Bigfeet left around. 'Cept his uncle Moggy. The Ashminder took so much from him that he forgot how to speak. He... he ran back out to Arizona in a blind panic. People call 'im the Mogollan Monster these days. We're not sure what he's been up to."

Dani took a deep, shaky breath. "Then it - Jesus." She wiped her eyes, and covered her face. "God. It - It got Jake."

_ "Jake?" _

Dani nodded into her hands. "Yeah, it got him," she said. "Guess the more memories it took, the stronger it got, and it was able to suck him dry way faster than the rest of us. He's the Yeti, if you haven't guessed. Came out from Colorado in the 70’s."

Aubrey blinked.

“Technically the Himalayas in the ‘20s,” Dani allowed. “Some stuff happened, he ended up in Colorado, stayed there until Barclay picked him up and brought ‘im out here. He’s from Tibet originally.”

"For real?" Aubrey gaped. "I  - I mean, his disguise is Asian, but I didn't want to assume that he -  _ seriously? " _

"For real. He's a little younger than me, but still . And the Ashminder saw that, and went to town on 'im. Took a hundred years' worth of memories. He's got a big ol' gap stretching back to the 1920s, when he was still livin' in the Himalayas with his parents."

"Oh, no," Aubrey breathed.

Dani nodded miserably. "It mowed through all of us," she said. "We were all just standin' in a clearing in the woods, tryin' to shoot this thing to death, because we didn't fuckin' know what to do. Indrid was toast, remember? It descended on all of us and just... took what it wanted. Latched on, took what we gave it. We - we didn't know how to kill it, y'know. At the time, we just thought it was some kind of fuckin' vampire on steroids, that took memories instead of blood. Nobody knew what we were supposed to do."

* * *

"Nobody knew what we were supposed to do," Indrid said.

* * *

"Except for Evelyn," Dani said. And her face twisted up, and she started to sob.

* * *

"Who?"

Indrid sighed. "Dani has - had - a twin sister," he said. Duck heard the correction into past tense, and felt his heart drop down into his stomach. "They were joined at the hip. Never saw one without the other. They were always gettin' into all sorts of shenanigans back then. I -"

Indrid paused. "I liked her a lot," he said at last, voice thin. "We were friends, Evelyn and I. When she died, it hurt Dani a lot, but it - it hurt me too. Losing a sister is... it's horrible, Duck, and my grief can never measure up to that, but... sometimes I wonder if Dani's forgotten that I was her friend too."

"I'm sorry," Duck said faintly. Words echoed in his mind: _"I just want you to know that that was the last memory I had of her. I hope you're happy with yourself."_ Now he knew what that grief was, that Dani had been carrying this with her for 20 years. He didn't know what he would do if he ever lost Jane.

"She... she figured out what the Ashminder's weak point was," Indrid said into the silence. "And... she let it take her."

* * *

The moment Dani started to cry in earnest, that did it for Aubrey. She couldn't just sit there anymore. She scooted forward, and gently placed a hand on Dani's shoulder, and Dani just _melted_ into her. Something in Aubrey's heart gave way, and she gathered Dani closer, letting the girl sob onto her shoulder. It was all she could do to keep from crying, herself.

"She - She let it take her," Dani choked out. "And she just let it take, and take, and - "

* * *

"I wasn't there to see this," Indrid said, his voice just barely under control. But Duck could feel the tension in his shoulders, vibrating into his own body, and the dread he was feeling made him almost want to throw up. "But I heard secondhand, what the - the Ashminder did to her."

* * *

Memory is a strange thing.

* * *

"She figured out that happy memories harm it," Indrid said. "Or, at least, memories that _you_ think are happy. It consumes indiscriminately, both good and bad, and doesn't have a way to sense which is which. Because it's all in our own head, memories."

* * *

Memory beats inside you like a heart, thrumming, pulsing. And like your heartbeat, you don't quite notice your memories unless you focus on them. They're not there until you believe they are. They're not quite gone until it's too late to notice.

* * *

"If we'd been somewhere else, it would've been different," Dani whispered. "We - we were at the falls, south of here. Hills Creek Trail. And the Ashminder was kind of just... hovering, over the water."

* * *

"Barclay said that she just... stepped into the river," Indrid said shakily, "and let it get its talons into her - and then it just..."

* * *

"It exploded," Dani said. "From the inside out, with golden light. It - the thing used to have a feather-covered shell, like some kind of horrible cockroach, but when Evie started giving it memories, it fell apart. And we - we thought that would be it."

* * *

"But it wasn't."

* * *

"It wasn't."

* * *

Isn't memory a strange thing?

* * *

"What did it take?" Duck whispered.

"Everything," Indrid said, his voice hollow.

* * *

"What did it take?" Aubrey whispered. Almost afraid of the answer.

For a long, long while, Dani didn't speak. When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper, and it made tears stream down Aubrey's cheeks. "She looked right at me," Dani said. Her grip on Aubrey was almost painful now. "And she didn't even know me. She looked at me, and I said her name, and _she didn't even know me -_ "

* * *

"It took everything but her basic brain functions," Indrid said. His face was in dark, somber shadow, the candlelight gleaming on the edges of his glasses. "She gave it memories of Sylvain, of her parents and her little brother. She gave it memories of life with her sister. She gave it... Jesus, she gave it everything, literally, until there was nothing left. And then the - Christ..."

He trailed off, and covered his face.

* * *

"She just looked at me," Dani whispered. "I tried - I tried to tell her, 'Evie, come back,' and she just looked around and said... 'Who?'"

* * *

"Then the Ashminder tried to take more, and she... she fought back. And she fell into the river, off the falls," Indrid said hoarsely. "Took the thing with her. And we thought it was dead."

And then Duck remembered something that made his blood run cold.

June, 1998 -  he had to be about...  jeez, 24, 25 years old back then, and he'd just gotten his job at the ranger station. Still trying to figure out what to do with his life. Minerva had been coming to him for almost seven years now, and every time he had turned her down.   _"People are in danger, Duck Newton,"_ Minerva had said, as she always did, and Duck hadn't believed her. _"You must accept your destiny! You have to! Lives are at stake here!"_ And he didn't believe her. He'd never believed her.

But oh, _no._ 1998\. His mind kept turning the number over and over,  The year was 1998, when the Ashminder came out. When he turned Minerva down for one of the last times.

The year Dani's sister died.

Oh, God, he _remembered_ \- he hadn't even been on duty that night, but the guy who'd trained him was. Old Mr. McElroy had been at his desk in the ranger station when Duck got there that morning, face gaunt and eyes hollow. Duck had never asked why. Back then, he was still a little intimidated by the old man, and figured that his business was his business. Later, there'd been talk about someone possibly being hurt real bad at the Falls of Hill Creek, but they'd never found a body, so Duck had ignored the news. There was just a short blurb in the newspaper, asking for people who might have any information to call the police or the ranger station. Nothing more.

_Lives are at stake here, Duck Newton._

God, if only he'd _known._ Duck felt his breath start to quicken, and he covered his mouth, feeling sick. Lives were at stake. Lives, Evelyn's life, Barclay's, Dani's, hell, even Indrid's. There was no way that Minerva knew exactly what was going to happen, there was no way - but still -

Had this happened because of him? Did ignoring his destiny this long kill Dani's sister? Was it his fault?

"Oh, God," he said hoarsely.

Something about his voice made Indrid go still. "Are you alright, Duck?" he said.

Duck tried to speak but couldn't; it was as if something had locked around his throat. Indrid sat up a bit, slipping out of Duck's arms, and stared at him. "Duck," he said sharply.

Duck flinched and looked at him. Indrid's eyes were wide with fear, and he felt bad for making Indrid feel this way - he swallowed, and took a deep breath, and did his best to answer. "No, not really," he croaked. "Nothin' bad. I just... remembered something."

Indrid relaxed a bit, but he still looked concerned. "If - if you don't mind me asking, what was it?" he said.

Duck couldn't bring himself to speak for a while, looking into Indrid's eyes. At last, he said, "That was the year I turned down bein' the Chosen One. Well - one of 'em. One of the last times I actually told Minerva to her face that I didn’t want to do it; from then on I kinda just… ignored her."

"Oh," Indrid said.

"Minerva came to me 'n said, I'd have to - I'd have to accept my destiny, or somethin' - and I didn't believe her, when she said that lives were at stake -" He sighed harshly and turned away. "Fuck it - you don't need to hear this -"

"You feel guilty," Indrid said plainly.

Duck went still. "Well, yeah," he said.

Indrid nodded once, looking at a point somewhere on the floor. "You know," he said, and paused. Duck looked up. "I... I feel guilty too, sometimes. For what happened to Evelyn."

"But it wasn't your fault, though," Duck said. "It was the -"

"The Ashminder, yes," Indrid said. his jaw clenched, released. "I - but it still stands that I didn't keep proper records, I didn't make enough of an effort to warn them -"

"But you didn't know -!"

"And neither did you."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment longer. Indrid's glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, again, and Duck felt a strange sense of deja vu. Foreboding, almost. As if Indrid was about to speak a great undeniable truth that he just wasn't quite ready to hear.

"Duck," Indrid said softly. "Do you know why I'm keeping this journal?"

Indrid took it off the bedside table and held it in his hands, examining the leatherbound cover. He hefted it in his hands and passed it to Duck. "I've cared about this world for a long, _long_ time," he said quietly. His voice, though soft, was loud in the room's silence. The shadows seemed to grow thicker around them, until all Duck could focus on was Indrid's face, and his red-hazel eyes - looking right at him. "And I - Duck, this journal is me. It's my mind, it's my heart. I've led a rather lonely life, all things considered, but there are still people in my life that I want to remember."

 _You must not forget,_ the pages had said. _You must remember. You must remember this._ Oh, Indrid.

"The last time I forgot things, people got hurt," Indrid said. "People are getting hurt. And I don't want to forget anymore, Duck. I don't want to be erased."

"You won't be," Duck said quietly. Something swelled in his chest, and he gently took one of Indrid's hands. "You're - you won't be erased, I promise you, Indrid."

Indrid closed his eyes, and a wavering smile appeared on his face. "Thank you," he said softly. "But - Duck, if that thing gets me again, I'm going to have to give things up to weaken it. That's why I have this journal, because I don't want to forget this world, I - I don't want to forget Barclay, and Dani, and Mama, and - Aubrey, Ned, you -" He squeezed Duck's hand so hard that Duck could feel the bones shift. "I don't want to forget _you."_

Duck slowly breathed out.

"And I - I don't want to forget so much," Indrid said, "that people get hurt because of me. That they die. I made that mistake with Evelyn, and I don't want that to happen to anyone else. I'm doing what I can. And - Duck, this is where you come in."

"What?"

Indrid took a deep breath and squeezed Duck's hand again. "You're doing what you can, too," he said quietly. "You - you've chosen your path, now, and you're doing what you can to make things right. It's okay that you were a little late, getting started. You had no control over what happened then. You -"

"But -"

"No, no -"

"But if I hadn't ignored Minerva, then Evelyn might still be alive, Indrid!"

"She didn't know, and neither did you," Indrid said quietly. "The only one to blame for this is the Ashminder -"

"But you were blaming yourself, too!" Duck shook his head, looking at Indrid incredulously. "Indrid, you're - youre being a hypocrite!"

"If I say it enough times, I'll start to believe it," Indrid said quietly. "I'm trying, I'm trying _so_ hard. But now that the Ashminder's back... it's getting harder. It... I think it got me that night. The night you guys found me, in my trailer."

Indrid's eyes lifted, and stared into the shadows at the foot of the bed. "It is incorporeal," he said, "until its concentration is broken and it stops being invisible, or it ingests a memory categorized as happy. And - Jesus, now that I think about it, that's probably what happened."

Duck cringed. "That makes an awful lot of sense," he said. God, it was horrifying to think about that thing going anywhere near Indrid, after he'd already gone through so much. Maybe his generator had run out of gas, or his power plug going into the utilities hookup had come loose - or both, really - and he'd forgotten to go check on it. Because the Ashminder had latched onto him, and took every tiny thought he had about going to fix it, and just fed and fed until they'd come to see him again the next week. Jesus.

"It - it hasn't come for me since ‘98," Indrid went on, "and it seems that its... reintroduction into my mind scrambled my future-sense even more. I haven’t been able to look too far into the future since ‘98, anyway, but these days - i only have maybe a second, or half a second, or more. That time I saw my trailer explode? A fluke. It’s been getting worse and worse.”

He cleared his throat. “It took that entire week between visits, Duck; and it took the memory of that visit too. Which should have made it corporeal again, come to think of it. But then again, it was night, and very dark..."

His voice was starting to drop into a low murmur, and his blinking slowed. Damn, the man was tired. Duck gently squeezed his hand again, marveling at how soft his fingers were, and reached for the journal. Indrid started awake. "We should get to bed," he said quietly. "I'll keep an ear out if anything happens.”

Slowly, Indrid nodded. "Yes," he said. He gently let go of Duck's hand and put his cocoa on the table. "We - "

* * *

Dani's tears were starting to fade, but Aubrey could still feel her holding back sobs. Inside, it felt like something had collapsed in her chest. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing.

"We never found her body," Dani said hoarsely.

Aubrey's eyebrows went up.

"Barclay found - Jesus, sorry." She swallowed hard and covered her mouth, and Aubrey put her other arm around her. Between them, Dr. Harris Bonkers sprawled across both their laps and started to sniff Dani's fingers. Dani jerked her hand away. "He found blood in the sand, a couple miles downstream - but no sign of her. And nobody ever... nobody said anything. No reports. So after a month or two we just... gave up."

A thought crossed Aubrey's mind. She opened her mouth to speak, frowned, and closed it.

"And Indrid moved out. The - the survivors, we were real pissed at him," Dani said. "Barclay was the only one who voted for him to stay - but before we could tell him, he left on his own. Moved into that camper, and stayed there."

"I see," Aubrey said quietly.

Dani sniffled and wiped her nose. "I still can't fuckin' stand to see him, sometimes," she whispered. "I just - he could've done so much more to stop it, he could've - I don't know, I just wish he'd done _more._ It just..." She choked on her words, and turned her head into Aubrey's chest. "Every time I see him, I can see my sister standing in the river, just looking - looking at me, without knowing who I am, and I get so _mad_ -"

"I know how you feel."

The words fell out of Aubrey's mouth before she could stop herself. Dani went still, and pulled back a bit to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Aubrey said, swallowing. "I - I lost my mom a few years ago. There was a break-in, and a house fire, it's - it's all kind of a blur, to be honest. It... might've been something I started."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dani whispered.

"And - it hurts, sometimes," Aubrey went on, "it hurts a lot - and I know how you feel, because grief never... it never really stops. I'm still feeling it. But you know what? We're - we're in this together, alright?"

Dani just stared at her.

"I know it's not the same thing, what I went through," Aubrey said, "but I still get it. I'm still here for you. We're in this together, okay?"

Dani's chin started to tremble, and tears welled up in her eyes again. "Thank you," she whispered. "God, thank you - Aubrey, I'm - so sorry -"

"Shh, no, it's okay," Aubrey said softly, pulling Dani close again. She felt her own tears rolling down her face, and wiped them away. "Dani, hon, we're going to be okay. It's gonna be okay."

But while Dani held onto her, and Dr. Harris Bonkers curled up on their laps to go to sleep, Aubrey's mind raced.

They never found a body. There was never any sign of her. That didn't sound right at all to Aubrey. She'd watched enough TV and read enough books to know that someone wasn't truly dead until the body was found. It had been 20 years, sure, but 20 years without a sign of Evelyn? Something didn't add up. And for Dani's sake, Aubrey hoped and prayed that things wouldn't add up.

She had a hunch. Oh, she had a hunch, alright. And for Dani's sake, she was going to pursue it.

"Thanks for letting me talk to you," Dani said quietly. "Sorry for getting snot all over your vest."

Aubrey laughed softly. Without thinking about it, she pressed a kiss to the top of Dani's head, right where the roots started to turn brown. "Anytime," she whispered. "I'm here for you."

* * *

Memory is a strange thing, isn't it?

* * *

Indrid paused, halfway through lying down, and sat back up again. "Did you hear something?" he breathed.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. "Hey, Dani," Barclay said softly, sticking his head in. Both Aubrey and Dani flinched. "Have you - oh. Sorry."

* * *

Memory was a strange, strange thing.

He almost couldn't remember why he was out here in the first place. The streets of Kepler were colder than he remembered, and darker; the power outage had taken out all the streetlights, and all he had was his flashlight.

* * *

Barclay looked a bit sheepish, like he was about ready to turn tail and head back out. Aubrey's arms tightened around Dani. "Hi, Barclay," she said. "We're just talkin' bout stuff. What's up?"

* * *

For a moment, he got lost and forgot where he was. He was so sure he remembered -

* * *

Now that the awkwardness was over, Barclay looked troubled, his mouth twisted in a sour line. "Have you seen Stern, by any chance?" he said. "He's not in his room."

* * *

\- remembered where he was supposed to be going -

* * *

In the street outside, Duck heard someone cough. He and Indrid looked at each other, alarmed. "What was that?" Indrid whispered.

"I don't know," Duck whispered back. On the bedside table, Beacon stirred.

* * *

Agent Stern stumbled into the alleyway, across the street from the Lake Ridge Apartment Complex, and held his flashlight out in front of him. His hands were nearly numb, and his exposed neck was starting to hurt something fierce; he'd forgotten his gloves and scarf back at the Lodge, he was in such a hurry to follow Duck and Indrid out. What a fucking mistake - he was _freezing._ And still sick. His mother would be so disappointed in him.

And he was so _sure_ that this was the right part of town. There was a forest service truck parked in the lot across the street, but he wasn't sure if that was the one he was looking for -

His flashlight slipped out of his hands and hit the ground. There was a soft crack, and the light flickered out. "Oh, for fuck's sake," Stern muttered, bending down to pick it up. His bare fingertips skated over ice; the flashlight must have hit a frozen puddle. And -

Stern went still.

In the frozen puddle, partially masked by snow, he could see the reflection of two glowing red eyes.

Pain blossomed up his spine, and he screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO
> 
> fuck me, why did i thuink the formatting would be cool???? i had to go in and manually add like 57 horizontal lines, i hate everything. but shit hit the fan, didn't it? please, yell at me here or on [my tumblr.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com) i would looooooove to hear what y'all think about what's going down. (and i hope to god that some of you are picking up on some of the balance references that i'm throwing down - because they run _deep_. Deeper than the Johann reference with "i don't want to be erased," and the Taako quote with "who." if you ever notice anything, no matter how crazy it might seem, PLEASE let me know!! i'm compiling a sparknotes analysis-type doc for this fic that's going to outline all the stuff i'm weaving in, but y'all get brownie points if you figure them out early.) also: the "Mr. McElroy" is a reference to the Clint McElroy the Janitor cameo from balance. just wanted to throw that in there.
> 
> so! that does it for this week. good luck on finals, to everyone who has to deal with that special brand of torture. have a great day, everyone. i love you all <3 thank you so much for your love and support!


	9. Confrontation

The scream echoed across the street like a ringing bell. Duck was up and out of the bed in an instant, nearly tangling his feet in the blankets. Indrid hissed, "Wait, Duck -"

He ducked down and looked under the bed, pulling out his boots. "Yeah?"

"Duck, where are you going?"

"I just - you heard that, right?" Duck whispered, looking over the top of the bed at Indrid. The man was looking down at him, confused, the candlelight gleaming on his glasses. His mouth was open slightly. "You heard - someone just fuckin' screamed, Indrid, I'm not gonna let that just go."

"Duck -"

The mattress creaked. He looked up again, and saw Indrid scooting across the bed towards him. "Duck, you can't," Indrid said to him, staring at him off the edge of the bed. Jesus, the man was tired; Duck could see it in his eyes, how slow they blinked, and how he could barely hold his head up. He looked like he was about to dissolve into the shadows of the bedroom: half in candlelight, half in darkness.

"I can't see it," Indrid breathed. "I can't - I don't know -"

"You don't have to," Duck said softly, sitting up, until he was at eye level with Indrid. "You don't have to see. You don't have to know everything. It's okay."

"It won't be okay if it's the Ashminder," Indrid said.

And okay, Duck would be lying if he said that didn't send ice shooting up his spine. But Indrid's words from earlier still rang in his mind: he was doing what he could. They were all doing what they could to make things right. Granted, it was just a random scream in the street, but damn it, Duck couldn't just let shit like that slide. "I - I'll be careful, I swear," he said. "I'm - Indrid, it's probably nothin', but I can't stand by if someone's fuckin' _screaming_ \- "

There was another yell - choked, high, almost like a sob - and both of them went still. Indrid cringed so hard that the bedframe creaked. "Jesus," Duck muttered. He struggled to his knees and started to stand up. "A'ight, I'm gonna go check -"

"Wait."

Indrid's cold hand landed on his shoulder, and he tugged Duck closer to the edge of the bed.  Duck felt the edge of the mattress dig into his stomach and winced. In front of him, Indrid took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a blow, and let his head fall forward. "Just promise me," he breathed, "that you'll be careful."

"I will," Duck said. Something strange swelled in his throat. He held his breath and, slowly, leaned his forehead against Indrid's, and somehow it felt right. Indrid's hair tickled his forehead. "I will."

Indrid took a deep breath and exhaled, the air puffing right across Duck's lips; the man squeezed his shoulder and pulled him closer. Duck hugged him back and wheezed as Indrid's arms wrapped around him, nearly squeezing the air out of him. He could feel the bony lines of Indrid's face pressed into his neck. Indrid was - Indrid was scared. He would never outright say it, but he was scared out of his mind. And after what he'd been going through for so long, why wouldn't he be?

"Okay, I'm gonna go now," he said quietly. Indrid nodded into his neck. He kept talking, softly, hoping that it would help calm Indrid down. "If you - if you think it'd be a good idea, maybe fire off a call to the Lodge, get one of 'em to come down here. I got an old-fashioned landline, those things still work in power outages."

"Yeah. Okay. I'll - I'll do that."

Across the street, metal garbage cans clanged. They both flinched at the noise. Indrid squeezed him tight again, in a slow and gentle way that made something hurt deep down in Duck's chest, and let go. "Okay," he said quietly. "Be careful."

Duck grabbed Beacon off the bedside table; sensing battle, he slowly unfolded like an uncoiling snake. Duck stood up and looked down at Indrid, sitting cross-legged on the mattress and staring up at him with a strange set to his jaw. As if he was trying not to scream, or cry, or do all of those at once.  "I will."

And he ran for the door.

* * *

This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong.

Stern choked on air and reached out blindly; his fingers scraped against brick, and he dragged himself across the ground towards it. A wall, a wall; his back was killing him, and his head, Jesus - thoughts drifted across his mind and were gone in an instant, and this was _wrong._ A full moon, crumpled soda cans in the alleyway, _uponamidnightdreary_ and the last snatches of an ad jingle, and _this was wrong._ He remembered those eyes, in the puddle. Glowing, red and wholly, undeniably evil -

Another painful jab went up his spine, and he groaned, his head snapping back against the brick. The world seemed to slow down, then speed up again, stars wheeling overhead and slingshotting back into place. Across the street a door opened, but his head hurt too much for him to focus on it.

Was he being drugged? Stern knew there was protocol for that sort of thing, a harsh, cruel reality in his line of work; all sorts of things could happen. He tried to comb back through his mind for answers. _Focus on the facts,_ the voice of his uncle Arnie said. Inexplicably. What was that man still doing in his head? _Focus on the facts, the facts, the facts -_

Okay, he could do that.

A cold wind blasted through the alley, scattering bits of garbage and snapped twigs. Stern hugged his knees to his chest and slowly, slowly, lay down on the ground. His name was Garfield Kent Stern, he thought. Serial number 37912. Agent with Unexplained Phenomena. Garfield Kent Stern. They taught him how to resist torture, they did, as if he was a soldier preparing for war and not a cryptid hunter, not a real-life Agent Mulder. Name and serial number, name and -

His name was -

His name -

* * *

Duck crept into the alleyway, holding Beacon in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He'd jammed his boots onto the wrong feet and was sincerely regretting that at this point; but the pain started to slip away, as he stepped forward into the alleyway. "Hello?" he said softly.

He held his breath. There was no sound. Just the soft wind howling over the snow, and his own heart pounding in his chest. Duck slowly raised his flashlight.

A polished leather shoe gleamed behind the dumpster. Duck gripped Beacon tighter and crept forward, aiming the flashlight right at the shoe. When he saw who was wearing it, he said, "Oh, for _fuck_ 's sake -"

Agent Stern lay slumped behind the dumpster, breathing shallowly and shivering in the cold. No gloves and no scarf, just that peacoat of his and his normal crisp suit. He was the only person in sight, Duck realized - so it must have been Stern who was making all that noise. Good Lord. Duck hated the guy, but still - Stern did _not_ look so great. "Goddamn it," Duck muttered. Louder, he said, "Hey, Stern? Stern, you alright there, man?"

No response.

* * *

_This was wrong._

Why was he here? What was he _doing_ here? He - Stern opened his eyes, against a great encroaching darkness, and tried to think back. He tried so hard to think back, but it was if a brick wall had gone up in his mind, and he was throwing his weight against it, trying to break through. _This was wrong,_ he thought, and he gave the wall a shove -

And the wall crumbled. And he saw -

He _saw._

* * *

Duck gripped the flashlight tighter; the beam was starting to waver. "Uh, Stern?" he said. Stern had turned to look at him, but his eyes were just - just wide and wild, and completely lost. His heart was slamming in his ears now, and Duck did not feel great about this. Fuck, this was absolutely horrible. _It won't be okay if it's the Ashminder,_ Indrid's voice whispered in his mind, and Duck's grip on Beacon tightened so hard that the sword started swearing quietly at him.

Stern stared, unseeingly.

Duck swallowed and hid Beacon behind his back. He didn't know how lucid Stern was, but if the Ashminder had gotten him, there was no telling how he'd react to his sword. But he - he had a hunch. "Hey, Stern?" Duck said quietly, stepping closer. His eyes flickered between the shadows.

Stern blinked.

"I - I'm gonna need you to do something for me," he said. "Weird request. But - can you think of a happy memory for me? Anything at all."

* * *

He saw a great roiling mass of blackness, like a churning sea, stretched before him: all claws and teeth and indeterminable shapes, like a psychologist's ink blot come to horrible, abominable life. In his mind's eye, it looked at him, looked _through_ him - and Stern felt it reaching out, reaching for something, and gritted his teeth.

* * *

Before him, Stern's jaw clenched, and Duck saw something flicker through his eyes. He was fighting something - he was trying to remember something, perhaps, and that didn't make Duck feel as good as he thought it would. Because that meant there was something there to fight.

Stern's lips pulled back from his teeth in a pained grimace, and the muscles in his neck corded - Duck's own neck ached in sympathy. The agent's hands twitched, and his flashlight - dim, the glass on the front cracked slightly - fell to the ground.

"D - Duck," Stern choked out.

* * *

And Stern realized he'd made a horrible, horrible mistake by trying to fight this.

The black storm roiled before him again, but thicker and colder in a way that made his skin crawl to see. He was known before it: he was seen, and the presence before him seemed - almost confused, really, as if it hadn't expected to be caught. And it spoke in a horrible voice, like rotting meat and a dying falcon's cry and the wind between gravestones all at once:

 ******YOU ARE LIKE THE ONE BEFORE**

**YOU ARE A SMART ONE, YOU ARE A SMART ONE, LIKE THE ONE BEFORE**

****The voice, guttural and low and everywhere at once, then sounded... almost panicked. Stern frowned.

 ******IT IS THANKS TO HER THAT I AM KNOWN**

**I CANNOT BE KNOWN**

**I MUST _HIDE_**

****Something twisted, like an embedded claw, all along the left side of his head and all the way down his neck, and _God_ -

* * *

And Agent Stern threw back his head and opened his mouth to scream.

But nothing came out.

"Oh, fucking Christ," Duck gasped, and staggered backwards. Stern started clawing at his face and his neck, eyes wide and panicked - but there was no recognition in them, none at all. Duck held his flashlight higher and scanned the alleyway, seeing nothing; was the Ashminder here? Had it - had it already gotten Stern? He couldn't see any signs of it in the alley, though; had it already left?

Stern rolled onto his back, breathing heavily and staring up at the sky. His limbs were shaking. The air convulsed suddenly around him, and he lurched into a sitting position seemingly against his own will.

"Well," Beacon drawled behind his back. "That's probably it."

"Shut up," Duck muttered, bringing Beacon out again. Now that he was looking, the air around Stern seemed to shimmer, like hot air above a highway. Right, right - the Ashminder could turn fucking invisible, until its concentration was broken - and even then, its body was made of fucking _smoke._ God, he hated this. On the ground, Stern huddled in a ball, his hands gripping his head so tightly that Duck could see his knuckles turning white.

Then he got an idea.

Aubrey had done something; he remembered that much. This afternoon, she'd been able to attack it and get it off of Barclay somehow. Duck slowly put Beacon down on the ground, ignoring the sword's protests, and took a step towards Stern. "Hey, Stern?" he said softly. "I'm - I am _so_ sorry, in advance."

And Duck picked up Stern, lifted him above his head, and slammed him into the side of the dumpster.

Stern let out a silent wheeze. The Ashminder immediately appeared in a whirlwind of sound and shadow, its six massive wings like thunder around Duck's head. Stern slithered to the ground, but the Ashminder itself still hovered in the air. The edges of its thin body rippled like a jellyfish, the talons along its edges clacking.

"Hi," Duck said feebly, waving.

The Ashminder's eyes narrowed.

* * *

Indrid heard the loud _boom_ of something being thrown at the dumpster, and he turned back to the phone. "Now would be a good time," he croaked.

"On my way," said Ned.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Sit tight, I'll be right over -"

Indrid slammed the receiver down before Ned had even finished, and raced over to the coat rack. He felt kind of bad for making Ned come all the way out here - the man had sounded tired, but the minute Indrid explained what was going on he agreed to come over as fast as possible. Barclay was too tired and injured to drive safely, and Mama had already called it a night, so it fell to Ned to take care of things. The man was turning out to be surprisingly responsible. It was quite inspiring to watch.

Winnie sat right beneath the coat rack, staring up at him accusingly. "Mrow," she said.

"No," Indrid said, shrugging his green parka on. "Don't give me that face. I have to -"

"Mrow."

"I _have to_ -"

“Mrow!" The tip of her tail twitched, and she sauntered over and sat very decisively on his foot. Indrid glared at her.

"I have to help Duck," Indrid said very seriously, trying not to focus on how he was having a _conversation_ about _life and death_ with a   _cat._ "Seriously, I -" He tugged his foot out from under her and knelt down, feeling only a minor twinge in his chest. "I'll be okay, really," he said, scratching her behind the ears. Winnie gave him a disgruntled look and closed her eyes. "I just - I can't leave him out there by himself. You understand, right?"

Winnie sniffed, turned tail, and headed into the kitchen. Well. That went well. Indrid took a deep breath, zipped up the parka, and headed out into the biting cold.

Down below, he could see the moonlight glinting on metal: Duck, holding Beacon aloft, as the shadows before him rose higher and higher. Indrid froze in his tracks. Age-old panic rose in his gut, phantom pains clawing their way up his spine, and he gripped the balcony railing so tight he could feel the metal searing his hands. He was frozen, he could not move - he could not _see._

He had to move. He had to. There was no way of knowing if he would be okay. Not unless he went down there. But the moon glancing off the Ashminder's wings sent terror rippling through Indrid, reminding him of the fog in his mind, of the gaps torn through like holes ripped through spiderwebs. But -

The shadows down below moved. Duck swung his sword, but it just went right through the Ashminder. Like swiping through air. Indrid took one step towards the stairs.

* * *

Off balance, Duck staggered towards the wall, Beacon's tip dragging on the ground. The Ashminder let out a god-awful hiss, like wind rustling thousands of leaves, and its wings flapped as it hovered above the ground. Duck glanced around nervously. God, he really hoped that none of the neighbors were watching; if he got out of this alive, it would be really hard to explain -

One of the claws on the edge of the Ashminder's wings swiped past, scraping against the brick. Duck dove under it, towards the back of the alley, and almost knocked over a full trash can. Fucking hell, this was not how he saw this night going. Seeing the abomination twice in one day was scaring the crap out of him. He lifted Beacon again and glanced around, looking for a way out.

The Ashminder's talons flexed wide, and it drifted towards him. _Fuck_ -

Beyond its wings, he saw a flash of metal and a puffy green jacket. Duck froze. Indrid was standing completely still on the balcony, watching all of this happen in horrified silence. He couldn't quite make out Indrid's face from here, but he could tell that Indrid was terrified. Duck just watched Indrid for a moment, before his eyes drifted back to the horrifying figure of the Ashminder. And back to Indrid.

_Happy memories hurt it._

Indrid took a step towards the stairs, paused, and kept going. Clumsily, but still going. Duck closed his eyes briefly and nodded, watching his friend through the drifting smoke of the Ashminder's body.

Seeing him standing there, the only happy memory he could think of - in this moment - was kneeling at the side of the bed with Indrid's arms wrapped around him. A kind of of desperation, so strong his eyes stung with tears, hit him as he thought of it - flashes, brief bursts, half-imagined and half real. The scent of nutmeg and ramen broth, a soft hand on his skin, a whisper of lips across his cheek that may have been imagined but _who cared_ -

Duck closed his eyes.

The Ashminder let out a guttural shriek and descended on him, talons spread wide. Duck chucked Beacon through its body, knowing full well that it wouldn't do anything, and braced himself -

* * *

Duck closed his eyes. Weaponless, defenseless, against the side of the building. Indrid skidded into the mouth of the alley and shouted, "Duck!" ignoring how the winter air stung his throat and how weak the words sounded pulled from his lungs. For a moment, it looked like Duck was giving up. His shout was lost in the scream of the Ashminder.

But then Duck opened his eyes, clenched his fists, and grabbed a trashcan next to him. As the Ashminder descended on him, he picked it up with both hands, the fabric of his coat stretching tight across his back. And with a yell,  he launched it straight through the Ashminder's body.

Indrid blinked. Wow.

The trashcan disturbed the Ashminder's smoky form so much that it almost vanished; Indrid heard it shriek again, that sound like tearing metal echoing off the walls, and it zipped up towards the sky. The trashcan ricocheted off the wall and slammed into the ground, sending garbage splattering everywhere and all over Duck - but it was gone. It was gone, it was gone.

Duck stared at the spilled trash for a few seconds in stunned, frozen silence. Then he sighed and picked a banana peel off the front of his coat. "Well," he sighed. "Fuck."

Hearing his voice made something cave inside Indrid, and he ran towards him, skidding on the snow. Duck turned and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Indrid crashed into him full-force, gathering him close. "Don't do that to me again," he whispered, trying to ignore how his voice was shaking. He propped his chin on the top of Duck's head. "I was - I was so scared, Duck, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I had it covered," Duck said into his chest. He pulled away slightly and looked up at him; there was a strange glint in his eyes that Indrid couldn't quite identify. "I... thought of something happy, in case things went south."

"And they didn't," Indrid said.

"No. " Duck shook his head, and smiled softly, in a way that made Indrid's stomach flip. "It didn't."

Indrid nodded slowly, and swallowed. He could feel the warmth of Duck's breath on his face, and God, that was ridiculously distracting. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Well - _I'm_ fine -"

"What do you -"

Duck gestured at the side of the dumpster facing away from the street. Indrid leaned over to look at it, leaning into Duck in the process, and cringed. "Oh, Jesus." Stern was lying on the ground like a corpse; the only sign of life was how hard he was shivering in the cold.

"Should we get him inside?" Duck said.

"...Yeah, probably. Ned's going to be by in a bit with Mama's truck, we can unload Stern with him... is - is he okay?"

Duck was silent for a long, long while. His arm was still looped around Indrid's waist; he idly drummed his fingers on the side of Indrid's parka. "I... no," he sighed. "The Ashminder got him. Got him good. I dunno how bad off he is, we'll probably be able to tell later, but... it's not looking good."

On the ground, Stern rolled over and closed his eyes, curling in on himself again. Duck sighed and let go of Indrid, moving to pick him up. "Let's get him inside," he said wearily. "You mind running ahead and getting the door for me?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

* * *

The sound of feet tramping up the stairs to the second floor faded, and a door closed. In the silence of his dark apartment, he kept listening long after all noise was gone. Next door, Duck and his guest - Indrid Cold, a man he knew rather well - talked quietly among themselves, waiting for someone to come. Someone with a truck. They were hoping that someone would come to get a man off their hands - especially Duck, who said that he just wanted to get to bed. Indrid said the same.

There was silence. The voices started again, too soft for him to hear. He waited.

A few minutes later, a truck pulled up outside, and the driver tapped the horn once. Duck cursed quietly, said something to his guest, and opened the door. Feet tramped up the stairs, and he could hear the booming voice of Ned Chicane ask, "What in the _hell_ is goin' on?"

Duck and Inrid shushed Ned. He smiled, and stood up from his chair.

The biting cold rushed into his apartment; snow was crusted on the balcony and stairs, and he walked carefully to avoid slipping. He was old, after all, and not as steady as he used to be. Though his eyes were still as sharp. He glanced at the sky - the full moon loomed overhead, cold and blank as an unseeing eye - and shuffled towards the alley.

Quick stock: an overturned garbage can, a wallet and its contents scattered on the ground ,a dumpster pushed slightly away from the wall. His eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. Old teabags and takeout containers crunched under his feet. Slowly, he knelt down and grabbed the wallet lying in the garbage, and opened it.

He raised his eyebrows. "Hm," he said.

At the end of the alley, the shadows stirred.

His head jerked up, and he stuffed the wallet into his pocket with one hand. The other clenched; a long, segmented metal blade emerged from his sleeve, clinking gently against the concrete. He knelt there in the scattered garbage, blade outstretched, waiting for the shadows to move again.

Nothing happened. Hm. Just a trick of the eye, then. With difficulty - the cold really did things to his knees - he stood up and turned back towards the apartment. On the balcony, he could see Duck and Ned carrying a man's body between them, looking around suspiciously as they shuffled down the stairs. A beat-up old truck that he recognized as belonging to Mama, the Amnesty Lodge's proprietor, was parked outside; they carefully loaded the man into the back seat. Ned patted Duck on the shoulder, said something that he couldn't quite make out, and drove away.

He waited until Duck had climbed all the way up the stairs before he left the shadows. His blade folded and slipped back into his coat sleeve. In the dark apartment, he lit a candle and went searching for the landline and his address book. A heavy weight had sunk into his gut, one that he hadn't felt in nearly 20 years; there was a reason he'd opened a store back then, because he thought he was done. He wanted a break, and thought that would be it. But when something was happening in the alleyway right across from his apartment? That was troubling as hell.

But maybe he'd be able to swing it this time. Maybe he wouldn't have to do a whole bunch of work this time around.

He dialed the number in his address book - hastily scrawled in, under the address for a tattoo parlor in Berkeley Springs. It went straight to voicemail. He sighed heavily. "Hey, Ness, it's me," he said. "I - sorry to call you, but I just wanted to put you on the lookout. It's back. Gimme a call when you get the chance. G'night."

And Leo Tarkesian hung up.

* * *

Duck could tell Indrid was reaching the end of his rope. When he closed the door to his apartment - and locked it, for good measure - Indrid was already shambling back to the bedroom, leaning heavily against the wall, his head bowed. Duck rushed after him. "Hey, you alright?"

Indrid nodded slowly, stifling a yawn. "Yeah," he said. "Long day. I - a lot of stuff happened, Duck. I kind of just want to go to bed."

"That's fair," Duck said, pushing open the bedroom door. Indrid shuffled towards the bed, shucking off his parka, and slowly sank into it, pulling the blankets up around him. Duck hoped that the cold hadn't gotten to him too much. Whatever energy had gone through Indrid before had bled away; the man looked dead on his feet. "Yeah, you should probably get some sleep."

"Mm." Indrid paused, shifted, and sighed. "Hang on." He stiffly tugged his bulky snow pants off and chucked them on the floor, leaving him in those ratty plaid sweatpants again. "You going to get those off or not?"

Duck blinked. "Wait, what - oh, fuck, you're right," he said, looking down at his own clothes. He'd been splattered by the garbage pretty bad, but thankfully it didn't get on any of his skin or hair. A change of clothes and he would be okay. And that was good, because it was coming up on 9:00, and he was dead on his feet. He pulled off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, and went to the closet as Indrid sipped his lukewarm cocoa. That stuff must've been pretty decent, if Indrid was drinking it lukewarm. Either that or he had bad taste. Guess Duck would have to find out himself.

He took his pants off and went looking for a clean pair of sweatpants, rummaging through one of the drawers in his closet. "Have you seen Winnie, by any chance?" he said over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Indrid said, after a pause. "She was in the living room before I went outside. Sat on my foot."

"She what?"

"She was... rather adamant about me not going outside."

"Hmm." Duck put on some pants and took off his shirt, reaching for a random t-shirt in the closet. The air in the room was horribly cold, but he didn't mind it too much. "Guess that means she’s gettin’ attached to you. Take it as a compliment. She's still - like, in the house, though, right?"

"Yeah - "

Indrid suddenly started coughing; there was a loud _clank_ as he set his mug down, and kept hacking. Duck cringed and turned towards the bed. "Shit, man, you okay?"

Indrid nodded, his face screwed up, and kept coughing into his arm. "Yeah -" He coughed again. "I'm good. Just... went down the wrong pipe -"

He glanced at Duck, froze, and visibly swallowed, his eyes drifting down the length of his body. Heat crawled up the back of Duck's neck. Indrid coughed softly again, and looked back up at Duck's face.  Duck raised his eyebrows, ignoring how his heart was trying to smash out of his chest like the Kool-Aid man.

Then Indrid said, "I - stop me if this is... rude, but - did you get - did you get stabbed, or something?"

Right, the top surgery scars. Duck shrugged and tugged the shirt on, ignoring how he could feel Indrid's eyes on him. "Uh... not really," he said. "Not in the... you know, typical sense of the word. Beacon didn't go at me or anythin' when he got ticked off. I'm trans."

He pulled the shirt all the way over his head, and saw Indrid nodding wisely. "Oh," he said. "Like Dani. I see."

"Wait, what?"

Indrid kept nodding. "Yeah, she is," he said. "She's brought it up a handful of times. It's - it's a bit different for Sylvans, all our transformations are strictly magical, tied to everyone's magical cores, but she and her sister transitioned when they came through the gate in the 50's. Took the chance, when they had to pick their disguises."

Duck stared at Indrid. "Huh," he said.

Indrid nodded and yawned, lying back down on the bed. "It's - excuse me. It's great that you've been able to transition," he said, scratching his jaw. "I'm happy for you."

Duck smiled, feeling something twist in his chest, and looked down. "Thanks," he said softly. "I - I didn't know that was, y'know, a thing in Sylvain." He slipped into bed and took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, we do it different here on Earth. Knives and surgery and a whole bunch of fun shit like that."

"That sounds like a great time," Indrid said faintly. "I am... not a fan of knives."

"Yeah, neither am I," Duck sighed. He pulled the blankets up - all 4 of them, Indrid must have added a bunch - and turned over, looking at Indrid. "And - you're fine with all this, right?"

Indrid's head rolled over, looking at him. His glasses were slightly askew, and one of his eyes was visible over the top of the lenses. "Of course," he said softly. "It's all good."

Duck smiled softly. "Thanks."

"No problem, Duck -”

Across the room, the door swung open; Duck sat up a bit, and saw the tip of Winnie's tail drifting towards them, like a shark fin cutting through water. Indrid chuckled softly and clicked his tongue, rubbing his fingers off the side of the bed. Duck heard Winnie purring loudly, and she jumped right onto the bed, stepping on Indrid's stomach and nestling herself into the space between them. "Oh, come on," Indrid muttered, sinking his hand deep into Winnie's fur and scratching. She purred.

"What's wrong?"

Indrid opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it, and closed it. "Nothing," he said quietly. "I'm - if I don't choke on cat hair, I'm going to get some sleep."

His legs shifted under the blanket, and one of his ridiculously cold feet brushed up against Duck's. Duck nudged him back, and Indrid smiled softly. "Goodnight," he whispered.

"'Night," Indrid yawned, and closed his eyes.

* * *

In the back of Mama's truck, Agent Stern stirred. Ned glanced in the rearview mirror, on his way up the hill to Amnesty Lodge. "You okay back there, Agent?" he said.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Stern stirred and mumbled something, and Ned felt a tiny stab of relief. From what Indrid and Duck had told him, Stern had gotten nailed pretty good by the Ashminder; it was a good sign that he could still talk. "What was that, buddy?"

"Mhrtnm."

Ned frowned.

In the back, Stern slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, staring at Ned in the rearview mirror. "Mothman," he said.

Ned's blood ran cold. "Uh, sorry, what?" he said. He drummed his fingers nervously on the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror at him as he drove.

Stern stared at him, eyes vacant and clouded still, but there was a spark of something deep down in them that Ned didn't like the look of. "Mothman."

"You said that already-"

" _Mothman,_ " Stern repeated, forcefully, and gripped the back of the passenger seat. He was starting to sound frustrated now, and maybe just a tiny bit panicked, and that was starting to make Ned feel nervous. "Mothman?"

"Oh, fuck me," Ned muttered to himself, and stomped on the gas. Stern slumped back into the seat, staring around with a vaguely angry look on his face. God, what the hell did the Ashminder do to him? "Fuck, shit, fuck, _fuck_ -"

They hit the Lodge's driveway, and the truck skidded to a halt. Ned jumped out and ran for the front door. "Hey, someone!" he shouted. "Hey - Mama, Barclay, somebody!" Shadows stirred in the lit windows. "I found Stern, and he's - he's pretty bad off."

The door swung open, and Mama and Barclay came out; Ned saw Moira drifting past in the background, but it otherwise looked pretty empty. Barclay took one look at Ned's face and must have seen something bad, because his face went completely slack. "What happened?" he said, as Mama went over to the truck.

Ned shook his head. "The Ashminder got him," he said quietly. "And - Jesus, Barclay, it got him bad."

He heard shoes hit the ground. "Mothman?" said Stern. He turned, and saw the man staring at the front of the Lodge. His suit was in shreds and tatters, and blood trickled to the front of his neck and over his collarbone. Mama gave them both a baleful, slightly weary look. Stern gritted his teeth, tried to stand up straight, and - with visible effort - forced out the word, “Mothman?”

And he slumped over in Mama’s arms.

"Oh, God," Barclay breathed. "What the _fuck_?"

Ned nodded. "Seconded."

* * *

_The woods are dark and deep, shadows thick as moss beneath the pines. The sun is low on the horizon. It is late afternoon, and the Monongahela National Forest is peaceful and quiet. Crisp wind rattles the branches._

_Around the twists and bends of Route 219 comes an old Jeep, battered and splattered with mud so thick that nobody would be able to tell that it is painted green, and it rockets by far faster than any vehicle has the right to go. The windows are up. Faint snatches of music can still be heard; it is turned up all the way, but none of the three people in the truck are singing along to the words. They are silent, staring straight ahead. One drums her fingers on the steering wheel; another stares out the window, idly tearing an old Wendy's receipt to shreds in her lap._

_The trees seem to arch closer above their heads, like a closing mouth._

The mattress shifted slightly, and Duck opened his eyes.

The first thing that he noticed was that he was not alone, which felt... odd. There was warmth pressed against his chest; a cold hand was holding his, and his arm was thrown over someone's body. In the pitch-blackness of the bedroom, he couldn't tell who was in bed with him, but whoever they were, their hands were cold, and their hair - pressed right up against his nose - was incredibly soft, and smelled faintly of - of nutmeg and pencil shavings, and -

Oh. Oh, my.

Just as he realized that _Indrid_ was in his bed, and cradled in his arms, the mattress shifted again. Duck felt a foot kick his. Indrid shivered violently and hunched in on himself, nearly jerking out of Duck's grasp. "Oh, shit," he breathed, sitting up. He put a gentle hand on Indrid's shoulder, and leaned close. "Indrid, hey, man, are you - wake up, it's okay!" he said, shaking him.  
  
Indrid let out a sharp, wheezing breath, his eyes still jammed shut.  
  
"Indrid, wake up," Duck whispered, squeezing his shoulder. Indrid's eyes flew open, and he flinched so hard he nearly rolled off the bed. His glasses started to slip off the end of his nose, but he hurriedly, almost reflexively, jammed them back on his face. For a long while, they just stared at each other in the dark bedroom. Duck could barely make any details of his face out; the moon was low on the horizon - almost morning, then - and Indrid was silhouetted against the light.

“You’re okay,” Indrid breathed.

Something twisted in Duck’s chest, and he nodded. “I’m okay,” he said. “All - all in one piece and everything.” He swallowed. "Bad night for dreams, huh?"

Indrid nodded slowly and slumped back down on the mattress. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "...Yeah, it is.” He coughed a bit, the sound coming from deep inside his chest.

Duck gently lay down, trying not to make the mattress shift too much, and watched Indrid carefully. The last traces of his own dream were lingering, but he tried to brush them away. "Sorry for waking you up," he said quietly.

Indrid shook his head. "It's - fine," he said hesitantly. He coughed and reached for the tissues on the bedside table, blowing his nose. "Jesus."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Indrid slumped back onto the bed, scrubbing his eyes under his glasses. His left temple was covered in small lines, from where the glasses frames had pressed into his skin as he slept. Duck watched him hesitantly, wondering when he was going to speak. At last, Indrid closed his eyes and sighed, looking over at Duck. There was a question in his eyes that Duck couldn't quite identify - until Indrid scooted slightly closer and lifted his arm. The blankets rose with him, forming some sort of cave beneath them.

"You look beat," Indrid said quietly. Duck nodded.

They slowly moved closer in the small bed, Indrid's long limbs folding around Duck's and his chin propped on top of Duck's head. The warmth and calm Duck had felt earlier, settling into bed with Indrid, returned so strongly that he felt it bleed throughout his entire body, soft and gentle and somehow right. He wrapped an arm around Indrid's waist; the other man curled his arms around him even tighter, and Duck felt his soft fingers curl reverently against his cheekbone.

"Goodnight," Duck said softly. "Again."

There was a pause that Duck sensed through Indrid's entire body - tension, that slowly released. Slowly, hesitantly, he felt Indrid's chin move, and a gentle kiss was pressed to the top of his head. He almost stopped breathing. "Goodnight," Indrid whispered. Their legs tangled together under the quilts.

Across the room on Duck's desk chair, Winnie watched the two of them with unblinking eyes. She turned around in a circle once, snuggled into Duck's discarded coat, and closed her eyes. Outside, the full moon slowly sank down into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to those of y'all who were hoping stern got what he deserves: you happy now? lskjdflksdf 
> 
> this chapter was a rough one to write! i had a point a that was set up by the last chapter, and a point z that i wanted to get to next chapter, but i had no idea what the fuck i was doing in here. if that shows, i'm deeply sorry and promise to deliver something better next time. but how'd y'all like that good good indruck content?!?!?!? finally, the bois get to cuddle together and be soft. i've been rooting for them all this time and i'm so glad it's panning out. also, yeah, dani's trans. why? because i said so. and also because i was heavily inspired by [crikadelic's design,](https://crikadelic.tumblr.com/post/180607970098/magic-teeth-gf-dani-hcs-shes-lanky-and-like) and in their design she's trans. i didn't want to erase that. 
> 
> so this concludes the first half of the story, as i see it. there's going to be a few more data-gathering sessions and some non-hunt related issues that need to be resolved, and the Ashminder's going to be lurking throughout. if you don't know who Ness is, she's an OC i made on a whim, but then i looked at some of the many plot threads i have for this and went "oh sHIT SHE'D BE PERFECT FOR THIS" and now she's here. [here's some art of her](https://crikadelic.tumblr.com/post/180740173688/taako-waititi-i-hope-i-did-her-justice-im-glad) by the amazing crikadelic, and [here's the first bit of fiction i wrote for her](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/post/180723778566/the-loch) (which is gonna get tweaked for this story, but the bones still stand).
> 
> as always, thank you all so much for reading! the comments you guys left on the last chapter made my week so much better; finals were really rough, and i'm so grateful for every kind word you all left for me to read. thank you so much! kudos and comments are appreciated, and if you want to yell at me on my tumblr, [feel free to stop by!](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/) have a great week!


	10. Whispers in the Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: as you may have noticed, many things in this fic have been pulled straight out of my ass. some of the stuff in this chapter is no exception. just roll with it, my dudes

Duck Newton slowly woke to an empty bed.

The curtains were flung wide open, revealing the frozen-over lake shining in the sun; his alarm clock shone placidly at him from the bedside table, and the scented candle had gone out at some point during the night. Duck blinked and scrubbed at his face; the alarm clock said it was 8:09 in the morning, and it felt like his eyes were full of dry concrete dust. Jesus, last night had been rough.

The bed was still empty though, and that was - while not unfamiliar - still strange for reasons that, thanks to how goddamn tired he was, he couldn't quite figure out. Duck's eyes drifted around the room, trying to pick up details: the scattered space heaters, the tissues, pencils on the bedside table, Indrid's journal, an empty mug of hot cocoa…

Then he remembered. "Oh, shit, Indrid," he breathed, lurching out of bed and into the hallway. On his desk chair, Winnie lifted her head, yawned, and slithered off the chair, following him with her tail raised high.

There was nobody in the bathroom or the living room, but Indrid's green parka was still hanging on the coat tree. Duck heard the sound of a whisk scraping against the side of a bowl in the kitchen and let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Winnie snaked around his feet and padded into the kitchen, sniffing the floor. He followed her in and saw Indrid standing at the counter with a small bowl, stirring its contents with a fork.

There was a packet of cornstarch and a box of baking soda next to him - hell, Duck didn't even know he had those things in his apartment. Winnie hopped up on the countertop to watch his progress, her fluffy tail twitching curiously.

So he was still here. That was... that was good. Duck was about to open his mouth and say "What's cookin', good lookin'?" or something equally moronic, when Indrid reached into the bowl, grabbed a pinch of the powder mixture, and plopped it right on top of his head.

"What the _fuck?_ " Duck blurted out.

Indrid jumped and his elbow smacked the bowl, sending it skidding across the countertop. Winnie dodged it, glaring at it as if it had personally insulted her. "Oh, hi, Duck," Indrid said hoarsely, turning to face him. "I didn't hear you get up."

"Yeah, I slept in, I guess," Duck said. He still couldn't tear his eyes away from that bowl on the counter. "Uh - what's that?"

"Oh -" Indrid brushed back his hair, massaging his scalp a bit. Powder started drifting down onto his shoulders, as if he was a winter storm cloud. "Dry shampoo," he said, by way of explanation.

"What -"

"It's a... habit of mine, I guess." Indrid lurched forward, hands on knees, and sneezed so loud that Duck swore he heard the dishes in the sink rattle. "'Scuse me. I, uh, don't exactly fit into the shower in my Winnebago, in my other form. The one time I tried to shower with these glasses on they got so foggy that I couldn't see. I slipped and broke my nose."

Duck cringed. "Ouch," he said. "That's. Not fun."

"It sure isn't. So, dry shampoo," Indrid said, gesturing at the bowl of cornstarch and baking soda. "Works pretty well, all things considered." He stifled yet another sneeze, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Why don't you, like - charm something else, though?" Duck came over to where Indrid was standing, squinting at the bowl. Winnie tried to stick her face in it, and he tutted at her and pulled her away, setting her on the floor. "Like a bracelet or something that you can, you know. Shower with?"

"I," Indrid said, loftily pushing up his glasses, "have a brand to maintain." His tone was ruined by the massive sneeze that tore out of him a moment later, sending powder flying everywhere and making Winnie's hair stand up. "Jeepers. Sorry."

" 'S okay. Bless you, and all that." Duck took a deep breath and sighed, looking at the white powder all over Indrid's blue sweater. It was a good thing that Indrid hadn't put his head over the sink or anything; cornstarch mixed with water would be hell on the pipes. Though he could understand Indrid's issues with getting in a shower, all things considered.

He thought back to the night they rescued him, when Indrid came out of the bathroom with just a pair of ratty sweatpants and a towel wrapped around his shoulders, and swallowed. Indrid started gently running his fingers through his own hair, trying to work all the dry shampoo through. "Uh," Duck said.

Indrid raised an eyebrow at him.

"About last night," Duck began slowly.

Indrid's face went blank.

"It's nothin' bad," Duck said quickly. "I just - oh, for crying out loud," he muttered, brushing the clumps of cornstarch off of Indrid's sweater. "You look like you got the world's worst case of dandruff. Snowin' like the North Pole up there."

"Thanks," Indrid said hesitantly.

Duck gently swept away a last bit of powder on Indrid's shoulders, paused, and let his hand stay there. Indrid's shoulders were unbelievably tense beneath his hand, like he was touching a rock. He'd pushed the sleeves all the way up to his elbows. "Last night,” Duck said quietly. Indrid swallowed, and fiddled with the hem of his sweater. “It was -”

“I -”

“It was nice. Abomination aside. I - didn’t mind it all that much,” Duck said, watching Indrid carefully. Man, his face was going on a fucking journey. His heart was spiking up into his throat. “If you wanna - y’know, make that a regular thing, I’d kinda like that.”

He squeezed Indrid’s shoulder, and that seemed to wake him up, in a way; his eyes darted up to Duck’s, and the relief that Duck saw in them shook him to his core. “Oh,” said Indrid, with a faint smile. “Alright. That’s - that’s good.”

And Indrid moved forward, hesitated, and closed the distance between them, folding Duck up in his arms and resting his chin on top of Duck’s head. Duck leaned back against the countertop, ignoring how it dug into his lower back, and returned the hug, pressing his face into Indrid’s shoulder. The sweater was incredibly soft on his face and hands. and he slowly breathed in, feeling a deep pang in his chest. Indrid’s hand started toying with Duck’s hair. His fingers were pleasantly cold against his scalp, and Duck felt his skin prickle in a way that made him breathe in sharply.

“I’d -” Indrid turned away and cleared his throat. Duck gently patted his back. “If I wasn’t sick and gross,” he said, in a low hoarse voice that made the hairs on the back of Duck’s neck stand up, “I’d probably kiss you.”

Duck laughed breathlessly, feeling a jolt of something electric shoot up his spine. “Yeah, well,” he said. “This is - good. This is fine.” And Indrid laughed softly, turned his head, and pressed a gentle kiss to Duck’s temple. His grip tightened slightly in Duck’s hair, and Duck felt Indrid lean in a little more, close enough that their bodies were completely pressed together and Duck could really feel the countertop digging into his back. His face was burning, but Indrid’s lips were cool on his skin, and they lingered for a very long time.

Then, almost at the same time, they both sneezed. "Aw, fuck," Duck said, wiping his nose. "That -"

"Yeah. Powder, not such a great idea," Indrid said stuffily. "Is it -"

"Hm?"

"Is it bad for you if you breathe in cornstarch?"

"Uh, I'd assume so? Either case, that's not good for your lungs either way, you're sick." Duck looked up at Indrid, who was now starting to look like he'd stuck his whole head in a box full of cocaine. Even his glasses were covered in dust. "You really should give the shower thing a shot," he said. "The steam.”

"Yeah, probably." Indrid sniffled again, and looked like he was trying to stifle a grin.

"What?"

"Nothing." Indrid gently pulled away from Duck, but kept one arm hooked around him, so they were both drifting towards the door to the kitchen. "I guess that would be... reasonable, the steam will probably be good for me. Do you have anything lying around that I could charm?"

Duck frowned. He didn't have much in the way of accessories - just a handful of scarves, some old cufflinks, maybe a nifty pair of socks or two. Nothing that would survive a trip through the shower... "No. Wait," he said, breaking away from Indrid and heading back for his room. "I think I got somethin', in one of my drawers... hang on -"

He headed for the bedside table, yanked open the drawer, and started rummaging through the stuff inside: old pens, a couple of CD cases, his prescriptions for T-shots, a few bank statements. At the back was a small black velvet box with the Forest Service logo stamped on it; he pulled it out and flipped it open. "Okay - here, c'mere, Indrid," he called out. "I got something."

"What?" Indrid shambled into the room, wiping his nose, and made an immediate beeline for the box of tissues on the other nightstand. "Oh - what's that?"

Duck pulled it out of the box - a necklace he'd gotten as a gift, a shield-shaped pendant with the U.S. Forest Service logo on it - and dangled it in front of Indrid. "Think this'll work?"

Indrid stepped forward and took the chain, rolling it between his fingers and holding it up to the light. "This is... quite nice," he commented. His eyes flashed down to Duck. "Are you... are you sure you want to give this to me?"

Duck shrugged and pulled himself to his feet. "Yeah, for sure," he said. He gestured at the chain. "It's nickel-plated, my skin's not too hot about that, but... it's a nice necklace. Be a shame if it never got worn."

"Hmm." Indrid picked up the pendant and squinted at it. It was a dark, oil-rubbed golden shield about the size of a quarter, with a pine flanked by "U" and "S" in the middle, and the words "Forest Service: Department of Agriculture" around it. He rubbed it gently with his thumb. "This will work," he said, with a decisive nod. "I think... hold on." Gripping the necklace, Indrid went over to the curtains and shut them, plunging the room into sudden darkness. Light still filtered through the curtains, though they did little more than turn him into a silhouette. Duck turned on the desk lamp.

"What're you going to do?"

"I'm taking my glasses off, now, Duck," Indrid said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He paused, fingers inches away from his frames. "You can - you can look away if you want."

Duck opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. At last, he said, "Nah."

Indrid blinked. "What?"

"I don't mind," Duck said honestly. Indrid gave him a dubious look. "You're not all that scary. That one time in the camper, we were just a little surprised, that's all. I didn't - you're not too bad."

"Don't try not to hurt my feelings, Duck," Indrid began.

"I'm tellin' the truth, Indrid," Duck said earnestly, sitting down next to Indrid. "See - I promise I won't freak out. 'Sides, I wanna see how you do this anyway. Magic's kinda cool."

Indrid just looked at him for a long, long while, something unreadable in his eyes. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, and he ducked his head, looking down at the Forest Service necklace in his hand. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks, Duck. You're a good man."

"Thanks, buddy." Duck patted Indrid on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Alright, let's see it, then."

Indrid promptly reached up and whipped his glasses off, and he instantly transformed. His wings shot off to either side, one curving around Duck, and his limbs lengthened considerably, turning into many-segmented arms and legs with clawed hands and feet on the ends of them. All things considered, he was a bit on the scary side, but there was a reason why he was called the _moth_ man. He certainly looked the part in some respects: he was covered in a thick layer of downy, dark grey fur, and he had big fuzzy antennae as well as some sharp-looking mandibles. The only remnant of his human form was that necklace with the Sylvan crystal chunk hanging from it; it still glowed in the semi-dark bedroom, and the fur around it glowed like burning embers.

But Duck really wasn't all that freaked out. Last time, his panic had been more surprise from seeing Indrid suddenly grow about a foot and turn, instantaneously, into the Mothman. He couldn't say the same for Aubrey and Ned, but he, personally, wasn't all freaked out. The first abomination they fought was loads more terrifying than Indrid was.

Next to him, Indrid buffed his glasses on one of the furry parts of his chest and held them up, squinting through them. He made a soft chittering noise that made Duck's eyebrows fly up, and brought the glasses to touch the pendant. Both of them started to glow softly. Duck saw light rippling around the frames, but not the actual lenses, and the tree on the pendant looked almost like it had turned to gold.

After a long pause, Indrid's antennae twitched, and he pulled the two items apart, putting the necklace on over his mothy head. The moment the chain made contact with his head, Indrid turned back into his human form, quick as a wink. He was still wearing the blue knit sweater and those ratty plaid sweatpants. "Ta-da," he said, settling the chain around his neck and tugging on the pendant so it hung in the front.

Duck stared at Indrid's face; without the massive glasses covering his eyes, he could see every detail of his skin. Freckles were splattered across his skin like an arm of the Milky Way, and his eyelashes were just as dark as the roots of his hair. And his eyes were truly a strange shade of reddish-hazel, or perhaps a reddish brown, like the wood of a sequoia.

Indrid suddenly winked at him. Duck realized he was staring and quickly looked away. "That was easier than I thought it would be," he said, looking down at his shoes. "What'd you, uh. Do?"

"Just transferred the enchantment," Indrid said. "This is going to help a lot, Duck. Thank you. I honestly should have done this way sooner..."

"Why haven't you?"

"Like I said, I have a brand to maintain," Indrid said, grinning. His smile faded a bit. "And, also, my eyes are a bit... wonky."

"How so?"

Indrid wrinkled his nose. "Something having to do with UV light, perhaps - Barclay and Jake had theories, but none have been substantiated. Though that does make sense. My eyes work far differently from humans, Duck, and wearing these glasses in my human form helps cut down on headaches and such."

He squinted at Duck, eyes glinting a bit - and Jesus, that was amazing, being able to see Indrid's eyes for real. They were truly spectacular. "Everything's like it's under blacklights," he said slowly. "When I'm not wearing these glasses. It all glows a bit around the edges. You're glowing quite spectacularly."

Duck's eyebrows flew up.

Indrid promptly turned almost the exact same shade of red as his glasses. Duck smirked, and wiggled his eyebrows a bit. "Well, thanks," he said.

Indrid swallowed, his face still incredibly red. Then he sneezed. "I'm gonna go test these out," he croaked, and hurriedly stood up.

"You go right ahead," Duck said, grinning. "Towels are in there. Feel free to use whatever you need in there, I'm 'bout to make a grocery run anyway one of these days, anyway."

"Sure thing, Duck," Indrid said over his shoulder, already scuttling into the bathroom. Duck laughed to himself and flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

This all still felt so... surreal. He'd fallen asleep in a bed with someone else, tangled up in their arms and soft and warm and feeling beyond _safe,_ somehow, for reasons he couldn't quite explain. He hadn't done that in - hell, not in _years._ But it still felt right. He closed his eyes and thought back, to the blue-washed shadows of the early early morning. Indrid had held him close like he was his anchor to the world, and wouldn't let him go unless he has no other choice. Duck... liked that. He liked meaning something to someone. He had no idea that it would be Indrid, of all people.

God, he just hoped that he'd be able to do the same for Indrid. He - damn it, he cared about Indrid, too. A lot more than he thought he did. Duck sighed and scratched his stomach, turning his head to look at Indrid's journal on the bedside table. Indrid cared about him too. He'd really hate to disappoint. Last night, he'd tried his best to be there for Indrid, and he hoped that he'd be able to keep doing that. He just wanted Indrid to be okay. It wasn't like Indrid couldn't take care of himself - he was incredibly self-sufficient and functional, way more than Duck was, if he said so himself - but…

Duck was always like this. He had a younger sister. He had a forest to look after. And, well - he was the Chosen One, like it or not. He was used to being in the business of protecting people, and Indrid was no exception. Duck would look out for him as much as he can, for as long as he could.

The shower turned on; Duck heard the door slide back, the sound of the splashing water change, and the door slide shut again. A sudden realization hit him, and he frowned, standing up from the bed. Was he supposed to do his T shots today? He had them stored in a cupboard in the bathroom, and he usually did them every other Monday, but the past couple of weeks - hell, the past couple of _months_ \- had been so hectic that they kept almost slipping his mind.

Duck went to the calendar pinned up on his door and sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Jesus," he muttered, feeling his cheeks burn. He'd forgotten about this thing. Ned had given it to him for Christmas - it was straight from the Cryptonomica gift shop, a novelty calendar showing nothing but month-themed pictures of Mothman doing various... things. January's was the Mothman building a snowman, with big red apples for the eyes instead of coals. For March, Mothman was pinching a sour-looking Bigfoot that wasn't wearing green. The August picture was Mothman lounging on a beach under an umbrella, sipping from a margarita and wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. It was all very hilarious at the time, but Duck still had no idea what Indrid would say if he saw it. Maybe he already had.

It was the 21st of January - a full moon, according to the calendar - but nope; his T shot was scheduled for next week. There was something scrawled in the box for Monday, though, and Duck squinted at it to get a better look.

His eyebrows flew up.

_Call Jane._

Last night's talk about sisters suddenly slammed into him like a freight train, and Duck took a deep breath. Jesus. Something panicked rippled up his spine, and he headed to the bedside table where the phone was, crammed on there with the lamp, the clock, and the scented candle. He tried to call Jane every month, just to hear if she was doing alright, but holy fucking _shit,_ that mattered now more than ever. Duck remembered Dani's cold face in the basement, after she'd fought off the Ashminder, and the memory sent a shiver up his spine. Jesus. Normally he didn't worry about Jane, but now -

The phone started to ring, inches away from his hand. The little caller ID window showed the number for the Lodge. He paused, and picked it up. "Go for Duck," he said.

 _"Duck, it's me,"_ said Ned's voice. And Jesus Christ, did he sound tired. The sound of his voice made Duck sit down on the edge of the bed. _"Listen - sorry for waking you up, but you gotta come down to the Lodge when you get the chance."_

"How come?"

 _"Stern's... taken a turn for the worse."_ Fuck. Duck felt his stomach lurch. _"Is Indrid with you still?"_

In the bathroom, the water was still running; Duck heard the sound of someone blowing their nose very loudly in the enclosed space, and sighed. "Yeah, he's here," he said. "He's not comin' back there, though, I'm not takin' him -"

 _"No, no, I understand_ completely," Ned said. Duck waited for Ned to start teasing him, but that never came. _"Just... try and come down sometime before noon, alright? Stern's in really bad shape."_ And that wasn't good, that could _never_ be good - Duck knew that Stern was really bad off after last night's attack, but when Ned, who had been treating Stern like he was his mortal enemy, was worried too? That was a bad sign.

"Okay," he said heavily. "I'll be there soon as I can."

_"Thanks, Duck."_

"Yep."

Duck hung up, and at about the same time the water shut off in the bathroom. Indrid came out a couple of minutes later, toweling off his hair and still wearing the same sweater and plaid sweatpants. Duck made a mental note to swing by the store and get some stuff in Indrid's size; the trailer explosion had wiped out everything Indrid owned. "Feel any better?" he called out.

Indrid nodded and pulled the towel off his head. The way he did it made his damp hair stand up in spikes, kind of like a mohawk, and Duck almost started laughing. "Loads, yeah," he said, with a soft smile that made his eyes light up. "I really should have thought of this sooner... I feel great. I threw away your soap."

Duck blinked. "What?"

Indrid tossed the towel back into the bathroom and headed towards the bed, picking up his glasses and sliding them on. "Your soap," he said blandly. "I threw it out. I wouldn't wash my worst enemy's _grundle_ with Irish Spring, Duck."

"That's the hand soap!"

"It's solidified battery acid, Duck," Indrid said, crossing his arms.

"Well - your hair's a mohawk right now, so forgive me if I'm not taking you completely seriously right now," Duck said. Indrid's face convulsed, and he started flattening his hair down. Duck laughed. "I'm just kiddin', man, it's all good. I'll pick up some Dove or whatever next time I drop by Leo's."

"Oh, thanks. I like that stuff."

"I figured. Your hands are real soft."

"They are?"

"Yeah. They're, uh. Soft." Duck could feel the back of his neck burning, and he changed the subject. "Hey, listen... uh - not to be a Debbie Downer right now, but... Ned called me. He wants me to come down to the Lodge - Stern took a turn for the worse last night."

Indrid winced. "Oh?" he said apprehensively.

"None details," Duck said. "He didn't give me any specifics - just wants me to come down as soon as I can. Problem is, I don't... really want to leave you here by yourself."

"Good call, I don't want to be by myself either," Indrid said. He sighed and clasped his hands together, staring at the door. "I - are any of your neighbors going to be home?"

Duck shook his head. "No - it's a Monday, Leo's gonna be at the store, and... and - oh, beans," he said, standing up. "I got it. Would you, uh - would you be fine with hangin' out with Leo for the day? He can take you down to the store and watch you, or somethin', and I can swing by and pick you up after this meeting wraps up?"

To his surprise, Indrid seemed to like that. "Yeah, alright," he said, nodding. "I know Leo. He's cool, I can hang."

"You know Leo?"

"Of course I know Leo, who else do you think tolerates me buying all that eggnog?" Indrid said. "I've known him for a while, I wouldn't mind."

"Cool, cool." Duck slid towards the door and pushed it open; Winnie flounced through and made a beeline for the bed, nestling right in the middle of the unmade blankets. "I'll pop next door and ask him - I haven't heard him leave for work yet, I'll see if he's down."

"Cool beans," Indrid said, grinning. "I'll - uh, is it alright if I borrow some of your pants?"

Duck snorted. "Yeah, if you can find a belt too," he said. "Feel free to ransack the closet, I'm gonna head next door."

"Alright, have fun."

Duck shrugged on his coat and drifted next door, listening to hear if Leo was even up yet. The store was supposed to open at 9, but it wasn't too far away from their apartment complex - and Leo had mastered the art of having just enough time to do everything extremely quickly, which meant he often slept in until 8:45. But even from outside Leo's door, Duck could tell that the older man was already up; he smelled coffee brewing and heard the man shuffling around, getting ready to head out for the day. Duck took a deep breath and knocked. "Hey, Leo?" he called. "It's me, Duck - got a minute?"

The door swung open, revealing Leo Tarkesian in all his early-morning glory. " 'Morning, Duck," he said, giving Duck a weary grin. He was midway through putting on his prosthetic arm - a really badass-looking thing, if Duck said so himself, a black Luke Skywalker-type thing with cobalt blue accents that functioned just like a real arm from the elbow down. Duck never knew how the man lost his arm - he'd been this way as long as Duck had known him - and he figured it was none of his business to ask. Leo had his secrets.

Leo finished strapping on the arm, gave the fingers a cursory wiggle, and pulled his shirt sleeve down over it. "What can I do for you, Duck?" he said pleasantly.

"Yeah, I need a bit of a favor - I gotta go to a meeting somewhere, but -" He hooked a thumb towards his own apartment. "Indrid, he lost his camper yesterday. Place went up in flames -"

Leo hissed sympathetically. "Ooh, that's too bad... is he alright?"

"Yeah, a bit sick but otherwise fine," Duck said. "He's been staying with me while we wait for the, uh... insurance claim to come through. Yeah."

"I hope you're not makin' him sleep on that grody old couch of yours, Duck," Leo said seriously. "Last time I sat on that thing, I nearly slipped a disk."

"Oh, no, no worries," Duck said. "I'm not putting him through that."

"So he's not sleeping on the couch?"

"Absolutely not."

Leo smiled faintly.

Duck realized what he'd said, a bit too late. "Oh, fuck you."

Leo raised both hands defensively. "I didn't say anything!" he said, but he was grinning ear to ear. "Well, I just hope it's all goin' well for you... so what do you want me to do, keep an eye on 'im? I'm gonna be down at the store today, you know -"

"Yeah, that's what I was gonna ask you about," Duck said. "Would it be alright if he went down there with you for the day? The meeting should be up sometime before noon, and I can drive him back here when it's all over with."

Leo nodded. "Oh, yeah, for sure," he said. "I'd be glad to help him out. Tell you what, you head on out to your meeting, I'll pack Indrid off to the store for you." Leo looked over Duck's shoulder and waved. "'Morning, Indrid," he said, with a smile.

Duck turned. Indrid was standing there, bundled up in that same green parka - and it looked like he'd taken Duck up on his offer; he'd found a pair of jeans that were a little loose and really short, short enough that his black thermals showed below the hems, but he looked good. "Hey, Leo," Indrid said. He coughed into his elbow and gestured at Duck's door. "I gave Winnie a spoonful of food," he said to Duck. "And here's your shoes."

Duck started and looked down. "Oh, shit," he said, and grabbed his boots from Indrid. He'd straight up forgotten to grab his shoes before leaving. "Thanks, Indrid, I 'preciate it."

"No problem." Leo and Indrid glanced at each other, stifled smiles, and looked away.  Guess Indrid hadn't been kidding when he said he and Leo got along. "You gonna head out now?"

"Yeah, might as well." Duck paused, after tying his boot laces and standing up. Indrid raised his eyebrows at him, giving him a faint smile. Duck tried to speak for a hot few seconds and failed. At last, he said, "Hey, stay safe while you're out," and gave Indrid a quick hug. Indrid seemed to melt into it for a split second. "I'll be back soon."

"You too, Duck," Indrid said softly. Duck pulled back, gave Leo an incredibly awkward thumbs up, and headed for the outside stairs that went to the parking lot.

* * *

Indrid and Leo watched Duck leave. "So," Leo said in his New York accent, grabbing his coat. "You and Duck, eh?"

The question made Indrid pause, mouth open, for a few seconds. But after a while, he closed his mouth and smiled faintly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, me and Duck."

Leo nodded solemnly. "Well," he said, and jammed a beanie onto Indrid's head. Surprised, Indrid hissed and swatted Leo's hands away, adjusting it himself. "I'm happy for you, buddy. Remember, I sell co-"

Indrid reached out and jabbed Leo in the stomach; the man wheezed. "Finish that sentence and I'm throwing myself in the lake," he muttered. "Are we going now?"

"Yeah, yeah," Leo chuckled, grabbing his own hat. "Come on, let's blow this pop stand. How's your week been?"

He and Leo made small talk as they headed down the stairs and to Leo's truck. Indrid and Leo had known each other for a while, ever since Leo moved to Kepler, helped with the Krampus Incident of '95, lost his arm, and immediately retired from the Chosen One gig to run a general store. Oh, Indrid knew that Leo had that side hustle going; he'd still been a Pine Guard member when that all went down. They had a weird friendship stemming from those days - almost like they were brothers, but neither of them could decide who was the old wise one and who was the dumb immature one.

Either way, they got along well enough, and whenever Indrid stopped in Kepler to stock up on groceries they always found time to chat. They needled each other about things, gossipped about the antics of Kepler residents, and just had a good old time chatting like old men. Leo was alright, for a human. Indrid didn't mind his company at all.

They got in Leo's truck and headed off to his store. The old building had gotten fixed up fast, after that regrettable Pizza Hut sign problem. Probably because Leo had promptly taken a chance, called up Pizza Hut's lawyers and threatened to sue for damages. His insurance claim got settled remarkably quickly after that. The locals pitched in and helped fix the roof and clean the place up. Indrid was kind of excited to see how the place had been fixed; he hadn't been there since he went to restock his fridge about last month.

And, to be honest, the place was practically the same. Leo's store was a cozy place, and it showed. Leo unlocked the doors, flicked on the "Open" sign, and headed for the back, scanning all the shelves as he went by to see what needed to be restocked. Indrid followed behind, much more slowly, as he took in the renovations. The floors were a bit cleaner, the shelves were a bit newer, and it still smelled kind of like tile glue, but it was the exact same layout with everything in the exact same place. Indrid craned his neck and looked at the ceiling; they'd gone and replaced the entire thing, which was good - any compromised structural integrity would send the whole thing tumbling down, and that would really suck.

"What do you think?" Leo said, grinning at him from the frozen foods.

Indrid hummed. "Quite nice," he said, making an immediate beeline for the magazine section.

"Thanks," Leo called after him, as he rearranged bags of frozen vegetables on the shelves. Indrid grabbed a random copy of _National Geographic_ and settled in the chair behind the cash register.

Almost right away, there was a gradual stream of customers, some popping in for a quick chat with Leo, others to pick up their groceries for the week. Mondays were always pretty busy. Especially now that Leo had a coffee and hot cocoa machine set up in the corner. Indrid started a short article on the rock formations below Yellowstone, looked up about halfway through, and saw that the line for the hot cocoa machine was stretching from the entrance all the way to the machine at the back. He hummed, impressed, and returned to his article. Maybe he'd go grab a cup of that stuff himself. There was a bit of a draft going through the back of the store.

Hours ticked by. Indrid was about halfway done with the magazine when Leo finished ringing up a customer, closed the cash register drawer, and went completely still. "Oh, yikes," he breathed. "Hang tight, Mrs. Dennings, I gotta - one sec. Indrid, I gotta go talk with someone at the front," he said to Indrid. "I'll be right back, I promise."

"Alright, sure," Indrid said. Leo nodded and skittered out from behind the counter. Something that could have been a vision flickered through his mind, but like all of his visions these past three or four days, it was muddled and grey - like he was watching a TV at the bottom of a pond while he was floating at the surface. He caught a flash of red, but that was it. He decided to ignore it.

Indrid was almost done with an article about how Mars had changed over the past 3 billion years, complete with fold-out maps and all, when he looked up. Nearly five minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of Leo - and the line was getting longer and longer. Mrs. Dennings - Dave's wife, some distant corner of Indrid's brain supplied - was glancing around, looking a bit concerned.

He looked down at his magazine. Then at the cash register. Then over at where Leo had disappeared - but Leo was short enough that he couldn't see him over the shelves, and there was no sign of him. Indrid squinted at the cash register for a few more seconds.

How bad could this be?

He stood up, set the magazine on the chair, and headed for the register. "Sorry about that," he said. "Uh - looks like Leo's a bit tied up, I'll... handle this." He poked the register, and it made a _bleep_ sound and flashed on. Okay. He could do this. Indrid picked up the scanner and clumsily started scanning items.

"I like your sweater, dear," Mrs. Dennings said.

"Thank you!”

On the other side of the store, nearly hidden by stacked bags of flour, there was a flash of curly red hair.

* * *

The world returned to her in a soft, dissolved blur, like looking through a dusty window. Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, squinting against the bright light. The curtains hung slightly open; the early light of dawn stabbed into the room and right into her eyes. She grimaced and tried to turn over, but -

Aubrey smacked the back of her head against the wall. "Ow, _fuck,_ " she said, wincing. Her back was pressed up against the wall. That was wrong. The bed in her room was in the middle of a wall, not wedged in a corner, and - and the windows were on the left of the bed, not the right -

Then her eyes flew all the way open. "Oh, shit," she breathed, untangling herself from the blankets and staring around wildly. The room snapped into focus around her, and she realized that she was in Dani's bed, under two or three really thick and soft comforters, with Dr. Harris Bonkers asleep on the pillow next to her - and Dani herself nowhere to be found. Aubrey covered her face with both hands and exhaled into them, trying not to scream.

Okay, Okay, okay, okay. She sort of remembered what had happened - after Barclay had wandered in, asking them about Stern, they just... didn't have anything else to talk with each other about. Dani had told her everything that she could, and man, she was _tired_ \- and Aubrey didn't want to leave Dani by herself after she'd bared her soul to her like that. It didn't feel right. Aubrey looked around the room and saw her shoes on the ground and her vest draped over the foot of the bed, and sighed.

The door creaked open, and Aubrey froze, pulling the comforters all the way up to her chin. Dani shiffled in in her pajamas, yawning and scrubbing her eyes with one hand. There was a faint smear of toothpaste on her cheek, and her eyes were a bit red and puffy, but otherwise she looked... alright. Aubrey realized belatedly that her sunglasses were on the bedside table next to Dani's photograph, and pulled the blankets just a bit higher.

Dani blinked sleepily in her direction and sighed quietly. "I can see you," she said.

"Hi," Aubrey said sheepishly.

"Hi." Dani's mouth twisted, as if she was trying not to laugh. She kept walking towards the bed; her footsteps woke Dr. Harris Bonkers, who lifted his head and started wriggling towards Aubrey's side of the bed. "Did you sleep alright?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, you?"

Dani nodded. Neither of them seemed capable of saying any sentence longer than two words; the unspoken tension in the room made Aubrey's stomach lurch with panic. She couldn't read Dani's face, and that scared her -

"Listen," Dani said hesitantly. "About last night -"

Aubrey exhaled and dropped the blankets, scratching the side of her head. "Yeah, sorry about that," she began.

"No, don't - don't apologize, seriously," Dani said, waving her hands. "It was -"

"I -"

"It was great." Dani swallowed and closed the distance between her and the bed, slowly sitting down on its edge. Dr. Harris Bonkers poked his head out from behind Aubrey. "I - that was real nice, I gotta admit," she said. "You're a good cuddle buddy."

"I was cuddling you?" Aubrey said, mortified. Dani nodded, her mouth doing that - that thing again, where it was obvious that she was trying not to break out in giggles. "Oh, Jeez, I'm - "

"No you're not, you're not sorry," Dani said, waving a finger at her. "It was... real nice."

Aubrey felt herself start to blush, and hid her face in the comforters again. "Oh, my God…”

Through her fingers, she saw Dani smile. The edges of everything were blurred in the morning light streaming through the curtains; Dani's golden hair looked like it had been set on fire. "Yesterday was... rough for me," she said. She reached out and put a hand on Aubrey's shoulder, and Aubrey just about died then and there. Oh, God, she didn't fuck this up, did she? Did she misread this whole thing? Last night she figured that Dani just needed someone to be there for her, but was this - was it too much?

"I'm glad you were there," Dani said simply. She squeezed Aubrey's shoulder and, to Aubrey's surprise, turned faintly pink. "And - to be completely honest, I wouldn't mind it a bit if you. Uh. Did that more often."

A wave of relief crashed through Aubrey, and she reached up to squeeze Dani's hand on her shoulder. "Y'know, I'd - I'd be fine with that," she said breathlessly. "More than - more than fine with that, I mean, of course I'd be _fine,_ I just -"

Dani laughed softly, the sound like warm sunlight right on Aubrey's soul, and said, "I know, Aub, I know." Aubrey scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Dani, feeling her eyes prick with happy, relieved tears. God, she didn't fuck this up, she didn't fuck this up at _all_ -

"I like your eyes, by the way," Dani whispered, the sound sending a strange shiver up Aubrey's spine. "What's the story behind that, huh?"

Aubrey winced. "Mmmm, yeah, about that," she said slowly - and her stomach suddenly let out a massive horrifying growl that made Dani snort. "Oof."

"Yeah, let's head out and have some breakfast," Dani said, patting Aubrey's back. She leaned away slightly, looking Aubrey right in the eyes, and Aubrey noticed she was glancing between them. "That's... pretty fuckin' cool," she whispered.

"Thanks," Aubrey said, beaming.

"Dunno how that happened, and I really hope you're not gonna get in too much trouble for it," Dani said, and Aubrey tried not to cringe, "but it's real cool." She reached out and brushed back Aubrey's hair a bit, to get a better look at her orange eye, and the touch set her skin on fire. "C'mon, let's go get somethin' to eat."

"I like that plan."

The two of them shambled out of bed again and laced their fingers together, Dr. Harris Bonkers perched on Aubrey’s shoulder. The first person they met in the kitchen was a haggard-looking Ned, hunched over the coffee machine like some sort of gargoyle. Aubrey almost made fun of him, but the man looked so damn tired that she decided not to push her luck. "Hey, Ned," she said cautiously.

Ned grunted at her and backed away from the coffee machine, holding a mug filled with straight black coffee. "Hm," he grunted.

"You - uh, you alright there?"

Ned shook his head and buried his face in his mug, taking a long swig. "More or less," he muttered, when he came up for air. "Can't say the same about Stern, though -"

"What do you mean?" said Dani.

Ned grimaced at her. "He got got," he said simply. Aubrey's eyebrows flew up. "He was snooping around outside Duck's apartment last night, and the Ashminder jumped on 'im. He's... kind of a mess."

Dani had gone deathly pale. Aubrey set down Dr. Harris Bonkers on the floor and put a hand on Dani's shoulder. "That's not good," Dani said faintly. "How bad is he?"

"Real, real bad," Ned said. He grimaced into his cup; the shadows under his eyes were deep, like someone had punched him and it had bruised _really_ bad. "You can take a look for yourself if you want, he's holed up in his room -"

Dani immediately made a beeline for the door, and Aubrey practically had to sprint after her to catch up. Dani weaved around the furniture with superhuman speed and went for Stern's door. Mama had purposely checked him into a secluded room - far away from the main Sylph action and all that, but still close enough to the middle of the Lodge that he wouldn't suspect he was being quarantined away from them. His door was cracked open, and Dani paused outside. Aubrey came up behind her and heard Barclay in there, trying to talk to him.

"Listen, man," he was saying quietly. "I don't know what you're tryin' to say to me -"

"Mothman," said Stern. Dani and Aubrey glanced at each other. Aubrey saw the confusion in her eyes shift quickly to panic as Stern said, his voice sharper, "Mothman, _mothman,_ mothman!"

"Fuck," Barclay muttered.

"Oh, Jesus, what the hell?" Aubrey hissed. Dani shook her head wordlessly, her eyes wide.

"Listen, man, I'm - we have explainin' to do, I get that," Barclay said; Aubrey heard rustling cloth and a chair scrape across the floor, as if he'd stood up. "How 'bout you write stuff down, and we can see how... oh. Jeez. Okay. Man, I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you."

"Mothman mothman mothman _moth_ -"

"...Okay then! I'm gonna - sorry, Stern, I gotta, uh. Do shit. I'll be back later," Barclay said, and now Aubrey could hear him getting closer to the door. "Sit tight, and try not to move too much, you'll tear your stitches. I gotta go."

"Stitches?" Aubrey hissed. Jesus Christ, Stern needed _stitches?_ He'd only been gone for - what, ten or eleven hours? What kind of shit had he gone through last night? Next to her, Dani was looking even paler, and Aubrey reached for her elbow -

\- just as the door to Stern's room swung open all the way and Barclay came charging out. He grabbed both Dani and Aubrey by the shoulders and steered them back towards the main room of the Lodge. "Hey, what -"

"Shh," Barclay muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "Wait a minute." He kept going, towards the kitchen; Aubrey shook herself loose from Barclay's grip and looked over her shoulder at Stern's room. "Aubrey, we've got to have a Pine Guard meeting. Things took a real big turn for the worse."

"Yeah, no kidding," Aubrey said faintly. "Do we... have a plan, or...?"

Barclay shook his head slowly. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "No," he said quietly. He gave Dani a cautious glance; she looked right back at him, chin raised defiantly. "Somehow, Stern got wiped so fuckin' bad," Barclay said, "that all he can say is the word 'Mothman.' Which is a) really fuckin' weird, because he's not supposed to know 'bout Indrid, and b), really fuckin' bad."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Aubrey asked faintly.

Barclay's lips tightened, but he didn't say anything. He ran his hand through his greying hair and sighed, turning towards the kitchen. "Hey, Ned," he called out. There was a wordless grunt from the other side of the door. "Help me out and call Duck for me, will you? We gotta - we need to have a meeting 'bout Stern."

"No shit," Ned grumbled. Man, he was grumpy. Though knowing him, he was probably just as panicked about Stern's condition as any of the rest of them. Unconsciously, Aubrey pulled Dani closer, rubbing a reassuring hand up and down her arm. "Alright, I'll give him a call. Hopefully the lovebirds aren't sleepin' in -"

Aubrey and Dani glanced at each other, eyebrows flying up almost at the same time.

"Don't call them that," Barclay said wearily. "That's just - _Ned_ -"

"Fine, dear, I'll call them," Ned grumbled. Aubrey heard him set down his mug and pick up the phone in the kitchen. Barclay sighed - he was doing an awful lot of that this morning - and scooted past Aubrey and Dani to Mama's office.

Dani squinted after him as he went past. As Ned started to talk to Duck on the phone, she muttered, " 'Dear,' huh."

Aubrey grimaced. "I don't even think Ned realizes he's doing it," she whispered.

"That's even worse."

They laughed softly. Dr. Harris Bonkers squeezed his nose through the gap in the kitchen door, sniffed a couple of times, and hopped towards them. Aubrey bent down and scooped him up. "You gonna sit in on this meeting, Dani?" she asked, bouncing him in her arms like a baby.

Dani swallowed, her eyes fixed on Dr. Harris Bonkers' fluffy ears. "I... no," she said. "You can fill me in on what's going on, I'll just... make some coffee and breakfast." Her eyes flicked up to Aubrey's, and she smiled faintly. "I'm about due for a soak in the hot springs, anyway," she said softly. "Maybe we can do that later."

And that sounded great, honestly - but Aubrey wasn't dumb. She knew that this whole thing was hitting Dani really hard; the past days had been absolute hell on her, and it was just... awe-inspiring to Aubrey that Dani could even find the strength to smile. Whatever Dani wanted to hear, she'd be willing to tell it to her, but good grief, she didn't want Dani to go through any more pain than she absolutely had to.

"I'd like that," she said, and smiled. Dani grinned back, and scratched Dr. Harris Bonkers behind the ears.

A handful of minutes later, Duck came screaming into the driveway of Amnesty Lodge in his Forest Service truck, wearing yesterday's clothes, his hat on backwards, and his boots on the wrong feet. Moira gave him a slightly disapproving look as he stumbled through the door, and drifted straight through the wall without another word. "Hey," he said to Aubrey, taking his hat off and hanging it on the coat rack. He got halfway through taking off his coat before seemingly thinking better of it and putting it back on.

"You okay?" Aubrey said.

"No," Duck said simply. Over his shoulder, Aubrey saw Ned come out of the kitchen. "Ned stole my wallet and committed identity fraud with my government I.D. Don't ask him about it, he'll deny it."

Aubrey's eyes slid to Ned; Ned, who had clearly been listening this entire time, winked and headed for the stairs into the basement. "Okay, I won't," she said slowly, looking back at Duck. "We were just going to get started. Did you hear about Stern?"

They both walked over to the basement stairs and followed Ned down. "Kinda," Duck sighed. "Didn't really get a clear picture from Ned, when he called me, but... from what I heard it's not so good."

"Yep."

"How bad is he?"

Mama's voice rang out through the cellar. "He's real fuckin' bad," she said grimly, from her seat at the table by the recreation area. Mama was looking almost as tired as Ned, who was sitting slumped over in his chair like he'd been shot. Aubrey felt kind of bad for not helping them out with Stern; she and Dani had been dead asleep when he was brought in. Barclay was scribbling on the whiteboard behind their table, breaking it down into a flowchart that was labeled "kill it."

Aubrey took a deep breath and settled into her seat. This part of every monster hunt was usually one of her favorites: where they laid out everything they knew about the bom-bom, figured out its strengths and weaknesses, and planned how to kill the thing. But now, it just felt... rushed. Maybe because it was happening a whole month before they were supposed to get a bom-bom; maybe because it had attacked so suddenly, so violently, without warning; maybe because almost everyone in this damn building except for the three of them had faced it once before and _failed._

Aubrey didn't want to admit it to herself. But she was scared out of her gourd. Their chances weren't looking good this time around.

"Alright," Duck sighed, sinking into his chair. "What's goin' on? How're we gonna do this?"

Mama sighed. "Well, first, we gotta update our 'what can it do' section over there," she said, waving at the whiteboard. Sure enough, it was split into a couple of other sections before the "kill it" flowchart. Barclay liked flowcharts. "It got a hold of Stern last night, as you all know, and went 'n nuked his brain in... a weird way."

"How so?" said Duck.

"He can only say," Barclay sighed, turning to Duck, "the word 'Mothman.'"

Duck's mouth fell open.

"With different, like. Tones and inflections and stuff," Mama added, "and with his body language, you can kind of tell what he's gettin' at. But no other words. Just 'Mothman.'"

"What the _fuck,_ " Duck breathed.

"And he can only write that word, too," Barclay added. Mama glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "It's as if all his other words are erased. He knows what he's sayin', in his own head, but we sure as hell don't."

"Like the patient Tan, in a way," Ned said thoughtfully.

Mama sighed, long and low. "Ned, that was either the smartest thing you've ever said or somethin' really fuckin' dumb, and I don't know which one it was," she said flatly. "Care to enlighten us?"

"Oh - of course," Ned said, sipping his coffee. "Louis Victor Leborgne - probably said that wrong, but you know, French - he suffered a stroke, and could only say the syllable 'tan'. He was otherwise completely fine, except for lesions on the left side of his brain in the areas for language production."

There was silence. Ned blinked around the table. "What?" he said blandly. "Why are - come on, folks, I know shit."

"What a surprise," Mama said wryly. Ned gave her a flat look. The corner of her mouth twitched. "No worries, Ned, that was... actually pretty darn useful," she said, glancing at Barclay. He quietly uncapped his marker. "Gives us a bit of insight on what that thing can do… We gotta update the Ashminder's ability list. It can turn invisible and take memories, but what it did to Stern implies that it's got some kind of... conscious choice. And that it knows what to damage."

"As opposed to... the demonic Roomba thing?" Aubrey said, thinking back to what Dani said yesterday.

"Exactly," Barclay said, writing "conscious choice" with a flourish at the bottom of the "abilities" column. "To completely nuke his powers of speech, while leavin' everything else intact, that's... kinda weird. I dunno what the circumstances of this attack were, but it's still fishy that -"

"I was there," Duck said, staring at the abilities list. His eyes flickered up and down its contents: invisibility, flight, memory consumption, conscious choice. "I - I saw it get him."

"What happened, Duck?" Mama asked gently.

Duck shifted in his chair and looked down at his hands, folded neatly on the table. "Well," he began. "It... seemed to be having a hell of a time." His eyes took on a haunted shine, and Aubrey felt horrible for him in that moment. "He was - kinda fighting back, I wanna say - he was real quiet for a while, but he was able to say my name. He recognized me." Duck grimaced. "O'course, I guess the thing didn't like that all too much. He tried  to speak again, and that didn't work. Then he tried to scream and started kinda, uh... thrashin' around, but couldn't make any damn sound."

Mama frowned, leaning back in her chair. "He fought back," she said, to nobody in particular. "And the Ashminder... Duck, did he manage to do anything else, or -”

Duck shook his head. "No, that was it," he said. "And then he kinda just went limp. Probably because I had to slam him into the dumpster to get the thing off his back. Doesn't like its physical form getting messed with."

Barclay tapped the "weaknesses" section of the board. "We got that," he said. Duck nodded; his eyes still looked haunted, and Ned gave him a hesitant pat on the shoulder. "So - guess the Ashminder just... panicked when Stern tried to speak, and took too much too fast."

"Probably, yeah," Aubrey said heavily. Jesus, that was... a pretty horrible fate. She thought back to what Dani had told her about Evelyn, about how the Ashminder took everything single memory that she had, and felt vaguely nauseous. "Is there any, like, explanation for why he's only saying 'Mothman?'"

"That we don't know," Mama admitted. "It's a weird word for his brain to be fixated on, that's for sure. I don't know what the connotations of it are to him, but it's possible that he just... lost everything else."

"He's been actin' weird, too," Barclay said. "Not like his old secret agent self. Well - granted, he's in real rough shape right now, but there's no - spark, I guess. Y'know how he'd wander around getting his nose into everything? Well, there's none of that. He's not even lookin' around his own room or tryin' to... I dunno, detective his way out of what's goin' on."

A cold weight sunk into Aubrey's stomach. "You think he lost his memories of being a secret agent?" she said numbly.

Mama spread her hands helplessly. "Who's to say?" she said. "He's no wealth of information right now. We don't exactly have a way to figure that out. Maybe show him his badge or something, see if there's any signs of recognition. Then again, there might be another connotation it's got for 'im, in his past before he was one. Kids don't just pop out and want to join the FBI. But we got no way of tellin' what Stern was up to in his pre-agent days."

"...Yeah, about that."

Everyone slowly turned to face Ned, who was twiddling his thumbs and looking at a point somewhere off to the side. "Ned Fuckin' Chicane, what did you do," Mama said slowly.

"More like Ned 'Identity Theft' Chicane," Duck grumbled. He hooked his thumb at Ned and said, "This goober stole my wallet out of my pocket yesterday morning, called the state Capitol, pretended to be me, and requested a government report on whatever was available on Stern."

Mama groaned and put her head in her hands. "That's what I figured you were doin', Ned," she said, shaking her head. Behind her, Barclay's eyes were lifted to the heavens, as if praying to some unseen god for some kind of salvation.

"Yeah, well, I memorized the name on his badge when he flashed it at us, so I figured I could send it out and see what I get back," Ned said. "Whatever the case - there might not be much, because he's a super duper secret government employee, but what little we can scrape up might give us some details."

"That's not... a terrible idea," Aubrey said. "Are you sure he's from West Virginia?"

"Well, his name's in the West Virginia database, so we’re gonna go with yes," Ned said. He tilted his head at Duck. "They're going to send whatever files they get to Duck's email, and we're gonna look them over."

"This is all extremely illegal and _very_ unlikely to pan out, but I'm willing to bet we'll find something," Duck said. He scratched the back of his neck, looking pensive. "Y’know - I used to have family named Stern - my mom's side, there were a whole bunch of them."

"Oh, really?" Mama said, surprised. "Was Stern one of 'em, by any chance?"

Duck snorted. "Our Stern? Hell if I know," he said. "The Stern kids - my mom and her sister Laura - got in a huge fight - I mean, a _huge_ one, when my grandparents divorced. The family just fuckin' _split._ There were fights, people gettin' written out of each others' wills... it was a shitshow. My dad kinda tried to cram the family together for holidays and stuff for a couple years after that, but... didn't go so well. My mom and her sister turned on each other. Aunt Laura moved out to D.C. and took the whole rest of the extended family with them. Haven't seen or spoken to my mom's side of the family since I was twelve."

Ned shook his head sadly. "That's got to be at _least_ half a century," he said. "So tragic. Strange, the passage of time."

Duck gave him a dirty look. "Shut up. It's only been... 32 years, Ned, do some fuckin' math," he said sourly. He looked at Mama again. "But yeah. _If_ Stern was one of my thousands of cousins that moved out east when the family split, I wouldn't know."

"That's fair," Mama said, though she sounded a bit disappointed.

"Wouldn't that be funny, though?" Ned chuckled, elbowing Duck in the side. "That'd be fuckin' hilarious."

"Of course it would," Duck said dryly. "God. I'd hate to be related to that guy..."

"Wouldn't we all," Barclay muttered. Aubrey shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He spun the dry erase marker between his fingers like a drumstick. "Okay - but back to the matter at hand. Whatever's up with Stern, y'all are gonna find out his backstory and figure out why  he's just spoutin' off 'Mothman's left and right. There's bound to be a reason. In the meantime..." He ran a hand through his hair and glared at the whiteboard, at the glaring empty space in the middle of the "kill it" flowchart. "We gotta figure out what the fuck we're s'posed to do with the Ashminder."

* * *

There was soft muttering coming from Stern’s bedroom. It sounded like the place was being ransacked; drawers were pulled open, pillows lifted and replaced, blankets tossed onto the floor. The man himself paced over every inch of the room as if possessed, searching for something only he could see. He’d thrown his tattered suit jacket on over his flannel pajamas, which were a size too big. “Mothman,” he said softly to himself, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. Halfway there he stopped and cringed, pressing a hand to his ribs.

Then he paused, and patted his chest again, where the suit jacket was. “Mothman?” he breathed. He glanced quickly from side to side, shambled over to the door to close it, and then made a beeline for the bathroom.

The minute the door closed behind him, Moira floated through the wall of his bedroom. She looked down at the desk, which was almost completely empty except for several sheets of paper. Each one was covered with the word “Mothman” - capitalized, lowercase, punctuated, underlined, in the margins, scribbled out dozens of times in an indecipherable mess. She concentrated and, with one ghostly finger, turned a sheet so she could read it properly.

For a moment nothing happened. Then something seemed to cross her mind, and she went completely still. For the briefest of seconds, something like fear crossed her face, and she phased partially through the desk before collecting herself. She glanced at the closed bathroom door and soared through the wall behind her, her ghostly hair billowing behind.

Inside the bathroom, Stern stared at his reflection in the mirror. He slowly reached into his coat, pulled out a hard black sunglasses case, and slowly pried it open. “Mothman,” he said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. It was clear that he could barely stomach the sound of his own voice.

He pulled out a dusty pair of gold-rimmed red sunglasses and put them on. Instantly, a completely different man appeared in the mirror: pale, hunched-over and gaunt, with a thin pointed nose and shoulder-length hair - black with white, greying roots - pulled into a ponytail. He wore a large green army-issue parka, old by today’s standards, over several thick, bulky sweaters. "Mothman?" the man said, in a pleasant, slightly-high voice.

Stern pulled off the sunglasses, and was himself again. He gritted his teeth and stared directly at his reflection, a slightly crazed light flickering in his eyes. “Mothman,” he said defiantly.

In his hands, the glasses shimmered with light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been going through a several-week-long phase where all i want in life is to be cuddled by aubrey little and fall asleep in her arms, and this chapter was the cathartic release valve for that. i do not apologize
> 
> sorry for how late this chapter was!! i got blindsided by the holidays and chores and all that fun shit, but don't worry - i ended up writing an outline so long that i had to split it into two chapters. so y'all might get another chapter in the new year!! I hope you all had a great Candlenights! I personally had fun; I finished neatening up my sweater - weaving in the ends and all that fun shit - and [I took some pictures of it, if you wanna see.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/post/181404738011/heres-the-instagramtwitter-quality-pictures-of) considering that it's the sweater I'm having Indrid wear, it's worth taking a look. [and my dog really liked the sweater too, if you want to look at my baby girl.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/post/181407505876/i-think-we-can-make-an-exception-for-my-baby-girl)
> 
> as always, thank you all so so much for reading! since the last update, this fic got to 534 kudos, and I am so grateful to every single one of you for taking the time to read this story. thanks for sticking around this long!! things are definitely going to start picking up from here. in the vein of the plot moving forward I wrote a little prequel to this story - [a Ned and Boyd and a con gone wrong fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181746) \- that you might want to take a look at. its events don't directly affect the plot, but they do provide VERY important context for some plot points I have set up for the next few chapters, all the way through to the end of the fic. 
> 
> have a good one, folks. kudos and comments appreciated, and I hope you all have a safe and fun New Year's Eve!!!


	11. The Arsenal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i pull more stuff out of my ass in this chapter and, possibly, butcher the spanish language completely. you've been warned.

****"In the meantime... we've gotta figure out what the fuck we're s'posed to do with the Ashminder."

They all stared at Barclay's whiteboard, at the glaring empty space in the middle of it. Barclay's flowcharts were always neat and organized; Aubrey could look at them and figure out exactly what the most important info was, and that really helped her a lot. But now, she had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for. They had the list of its abilities in the first box - but that was the only thing they had filled in. The rest was just... empty.

"Well," Duck said slowly. "We got one option."

"Duck -"

"Lemme finish, lemme finish," he said to Ned. "We feed it happy memories until it combusts. The thing's hurt by 'em, isn't it? I - I don't really wanna put anyone through that, but we haven't figured out anything else that might be able to do the job."

"It... yeah," Mama sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, staring at a stain on the table. Her eyes were weary. "Last time, back when - when we first fought the thing, someone -" _Evelyn,_ Aubrey's mind filled in "- was able to feed it enough good memories that it... lost its physical form."

"It had one to begin with?" Ned said.

Mama nodded. "It used to be... a big, giant ol' thing," she said, spreading her hands to take in the entire room. "Almost - like a person, in a manner of speakin', but tall, hideous - covered in a hard exoskeleton-type thing, with feathers 'n shit all over. Easily 'bout ten or twelve feet tall. Still those six nasty wings, red eyes, those talons on either side, those suckers up the front. But it - jeepers, okay, this was gross as hell, but those talons? That grip you, 'n hold you in place for the suckers to work? Those were its ribs."

"Oh, ew, what the fuck?" Aubrey whispered.

"Real big, real nasty," Mama said flatly. "And it had two big, long arms, with giant hands, that it would use to grab you 'n hunt you with. It don't have those anymore, now that its exoskeleton's been shot to hell, but it doesn't need those big hands to be dangerous. Y'all know that."

"We sure do," Barclay said. He crossed his arms tightly, winced, and then loosened them a bit.

Duck nodded. "Okay - well -"

"Wait a minute."

Ned was frowning at the whiteboard. There was a shadow in his eyes that Aubrey didn't like the look of. "Does this - what does it _do,_ with the memories it takes? Does it use them for sustenance, or store them, or... what's the deal?"

"Sustenance, most likely," Mama said heavily. "Feeds off the bad memories, gets poisoned by the good ones. We noticed that once - it, uh, kinda seemed to regain its strength, when it got. Fuck," she muttered, putting her head in her hands. "I - damn, I wish I could tell you more, but it don't seem like my place to -"

"If this is about Indrid, I know everything already," Duck said flatly.

Mama looked up. "What?"

"Indrid told me everything," he said, " 'bout what happened that year. '98."

Ned glanced around the room, clearly confused. "Hang on, what -" Barclay sighed and stared at the floor, not meeting his eyes.

"And - and Dani told me her side of things, too," Aubrey piped up. Mama turned to look at her, then, and the pain Aubrey saw in her eyes made her throat close up. "I - you all really got the short end of the stick on it, and I know it probably hurts, but you don't have to hide all that from us. Really, you don't."

"And I'd rather you hadn't," Duck said. Aubrey glanced at him, alarmed at the sharpness she heard in his voice. What had Indrid told him, to make him sound this... mad? "All that would've been so damn useful goin' in - knowin' the full scope of what that thing was capable of. Hell, we might've - this is a long shot, but we might've been able to save Stern if we'd known. Why didn't you tell us?"

"Listen. I still don't wanna talk about all of it," Mama said firmly. Her eyes glittered with something almost like rage, but ran far deeper. It made Aubrey want to either turn and run upstairs, or go over to the other side of the table and give Mama a hug, and she didn't know which. "Point still stands. It gets stronger off of bad memories. Movin' on."

"Stop leaving me out of the loop on this, guys," Ned said, scowling. "I still have no idea what the fuck is goin' on -"

"I got you there." Barclay finally looked up, and met Ned's eyes. "I'll tell you 'bout it later," he said. "Right now, we gotta focus on the here and now."

Ned looked slightly pacified, but still annoyed. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the whiteboard. Then he said, "How about this."

"Hm?"

"What if we take away its food source?" Ned said. "If it gets sustenance from, you know, bad memories and all that, what if we find a way to -"

"Cut it off?" Barclay tapped the dry erase marker against his chin, looking pensively at the whiteboard. "That... could work. But it's incorporeal now, Ned, it can just. Phase through the fuckin' wall if it wants to. We don't even know if it'll be able to get its physical form back."

"Damn it."

"It was worth a shot, though, Ned," Mama said wearily. "but - Jesus, I dunno if we have any more options left."

"I mean. We do."

Duck's voice was quiet. "We have one real option," he said, "one that's... tried 'n true. If what Indrid told me is true, then the Ashminder already got its nasty talons on just 'bout everyone in the Lodge." Ned turned to stare at him. "But we - fuck. I don't wanna say it, but... if the thing comes after us three, at least we'll be ready for it. We got a fresh arsenal of memories to throw at it."

"That's not happenin'," Mama said firmly. "I am _not_ lettin' y'all face that thing. It just got in Stern's brain and munched on half his damn life story - who knows how strong it is, now? It's -"

"I'm not even sayin' we're gonna do it, for Christ's sake," Duck blurted out. "I - Jesus, I've heard what it can do, I've _seen_ what it has done. I wouldn't want to wish that fate on fuckin' anybody in this building, okay? I don't know. I don't - I don't know what the fuck to do. I just don't."

"Join the club," Barclay sighed.

"I guess," Aubrey said, in a small voice, "we can just. Prepare ourselves. Arm up. Make as many good memories as we can right now, in case it does get us, and then just. Chip away."

Mama looked her dead in the eyes. "Aubrey," she said, "if Dani really told you everythin' about what happened, then you _know_ that there's no way in hell that's gonna happen."

"I know," Aubrey said. "I just -"

Mama slowly reached across the table and gently put a hand on Aubrey's wrist. Aubrey stared at it, still feeling as if she'd done something or said something wrong. "I don't want any of y'all to get hurt," Mama said quietly. "Please."

"Okay," Aubrey said.

The chair creaked as Mama stood up, and gave the whiteboard one last, long look. "This is gettin' to be way out of our league," she said grimly. "I'm gonna - one of these days, maybe tonight or tomorrow, I'm gonna go to Sylvain. That's the one thing we didn't do last time, 'cause we thought we were gonna be able to take care of things ourselves, but now... now more than ever, we need help. The rest of y'all - and I'm gonna go tell the rest of the Lodge this, too - stay on the down-low."

Barclay slowly put the marker on the shelf on the bottom of the whiteboard. His face was haggard and weary, as if he had heard this all before and it pained him to hear it again.

"Until we can say for sure that thing is dead as a doornail, don't go anywhere alone." Mama's tone made a weight sink down into Aubrey's chest; the hopelessness in the room was choking her. She slowly stood up and drifted towards the back stairs, keeping one ear on Mama's words. “Stay in sight of other people at all times. Be in pairs if you can. And above all, don't let it get you. If you see it comin', or think that it's comin', run back here if you can. I'm not lettin' this thing get its talons on you."

Mama took a deep breath and turned to face them. "Alright," she said. "If y'all think you've got somethin' figured out, let me know. I'm gonna be in Stern's room, tryin' to get some sense out of him. Stay safe out there."

Aubrey scrubbed a hand over her face and opened the door back into the Lodge's main room. The sunlight shining through the windows felt fake, after being down in the dark basement - almost as if they were stage lights, or the lights of a museum display case. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hugging her stomach and staring out the window. A slight breeze made the branches outside twitch in the wind like the legs of a dying spider.

She heard cloth rustling and glanced around. Dani had been sitting in an armchair, holding Dr. Harris Bonkers in her lap, and now she was heading her way. Wordlessly, Aubrey let Dani loop an arm around her shoulders and steer her to the kitchen. "What's the plan?" Dani said softly.

"We don't have one," Aubrey said. She tried to take whatever bitterness she could out of her voice, but that was nearly impossible. Dani went still, but her arm tightened even more around Aubrey. "Mama's plannin' on goin' to Sylvain to do some more research, but - Jesus, Dani, this is..."

"Bad," Dani said simply. Dr. Harris Bonkers squirmed a little in her arms, and she let go of Aubrey to put him down. He raced ahead of them to the kitchen, his little feet leaving tracks in the carpet. "Yeah, it's... not ideal. It was the same shit last time, and the same shit now. I'm really not surprised." There was a faint note of bitterness in her voice. Aubrey swallowed hard, reached out, and laced their fingers together."

In the kitchen, Dr. Harris Bonkers was nowhere to be seen. Dani squeezed Aubrey's hand and headed for the cabinet above the stove. "I'll make some tea," she said softly. "D'you want some? Barclay's got a big ol' stash up here."

"Yeah, I could go for some," Aubrey said.

Then she saw the cabinet under the sink creak open, and a tiny little white tail stick out. "Hey, hey, no, Dr. Harris _Bonkers,_ _¡pare!"_ she yelled, diving for the rabbit. He was sniffing around some boxes of detergent; Aubrey grabbed him and yanked him out, making sure he didn't have anything in his mouth. "You gotta stop doing that - one of these days, I'm gonna have to put locks on this thing -"

She looked up at Dani, who slowly closed the tea cabinet. "He's like a toddler," she sighed. "He gets into everything - uh." Dani was giving her a strange look. "You okay?"

"You speak Spanish?" Dani said softly.

Aubrey made a face and stood up. "Sort of? I mean, I know it, I just don't speak it a lot," she said, scratching Dr. Harris Bonkers behind the ears. "My parents were Puerto Rican, I - I'm fluent, but I... y'know, don't always speak it, I guess?" Dani looked like she'd swallowed an ice cube. "Is - is it a problem?"

"No," Dani said quietly. "I - my sister knew Spanish."

Aubrey felt a heavy weight sink into her stomach. "Oh, shit, I'm - I'm sorry, I -"

"No, no! It's not a problem at all," Dani said hurriedly. She reached out, and Aubrey wordlessly passed Dr. Harris Bonkers to her. "I - it just surprised me, that's all. She  was... well, more or less fluent - all I ever picked up were swear words and stuff. Language was never really my thing, even though we both learned Chinese and Korean, but... yeah." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and looked out the window. "Spanish was... her thing."

Aubrey quietly cleared her throat. "Well," she said, and paused. Dani glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "If, uh... if it's not, like, a problem or anything, I could teach you?"

Dani's other eyebrow flew up.

And Aubrey cleared her throat again, feeling as if she was about to do something incredibly stupid, but she was completely powerless to stop it. " _Si quieres, puedo enseñarte._ " And she added a wink at the end.

Dani dropped Dr. Harris Bonkers on the countertop. "What?" she breathed.

Shit. Uh. "Well, if you want," Aubrey stammered, lacing her hands together behind her back. God, she hoped Dani said yes - because now, maybe five seconds too late, she knew why she'd asked in the first place. It was a long shot, but God, she just wanted to spend as much time with Dani as she could, and make as many happy memories with her as she could - because she meant what she'd said back in the basement. Even though nobody had taken her too seriously. She wanted an arsenal of memories, damn it, and if she could make some of those with Dani... then, hell, they'd both have them. They'd both be ready. Some of Aubrey's happiest memories were of learning Spanish from her parents; she wanted to share that with her. And she just wanted Dani to be safe, and loved, and -

"Really?" Dani said quietly. There was a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. In the early morning light streaming through the kitchen window, she looked almost... hopeful.

"Of course," Aubrey said. She gently took Dani's hand again. "I'd be happy to teach you - what do you know already?"

"...Not much. Like I said, slang 'n stuff. How to ask for directions somewhere. Not really enough to have a real conversation, I guess."

"Well, I got you covered there," Aubrey said. She squeezed Dani's hand and glanced around the kitchen. How had her mother started teaching her...? "Okay. Uh... you know what?" She dragged Dani a little away from the countertop. Dani let herself be pulled along, smiling a bit confusedly at Aubrey. "I'll give you some vocab."

"Sounds good. I never had enough of that..."

"Okay! So - Dr. Harris Bonkers? He's a rabbit, despite what you might think. Rabbit is _conejo,_ or _conejito_ if you wanna get cute..."

Outside, she heard a door close, and someone start to dial a phone.

* * *

Doom and gloom aside, it had to be done.

Duck stood in the main room of the Lodge, which was surprisingly empty; usually at this time of morning, Sylphs were milling around, talking to each other, watching TV with their breakfast or heading out to the hot springs for a morning soak. Now, it was just... silent. The past couple of days had cast a shadow over the Lodge. And that made sense - the Ashminder had affected nearly everyone who lived here, and knowing that it was back and _still alive_ was...

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and sighed. He had to make a phone call. Before he forgot. And fuck, even that sounded bad. Duck sat down on one of the sofas, picked up the phone on the end table, and slowly dialed Jane's number.

They called each other every month. Usually. Duck was the one to initiate most of the calls, because Jane was always running around and doing things in Honduras. She told him once that she didn't necessarily have the time to sit down and call, but she took a lot of pleasure in telling people to "fuck off, my brother's calling." And she never, never missed a call. Duck didn't mind doing all the work for this one, because she always sent him giant boxes full of stuff from Honduras, along with letters that were often five or six pages long

Besides. Last night's talk about sisters had shaken him to his core. He just needed to hear Jane's voice, and make sure she was alright.

The phone rang for a while; Duck wrapped his finger around the cord, silently praying that she would pick up.  Ned and Barclay finally climbed the stairs to the basement and grabbed their coats, talking in low voices to each other. Ned caught Duck's eye and tilted his head towards the Lodge's main door; Duck nodded and gave him a thumbs up. The two of them walked out onto the porch and closed the door, but Duck didn't hear them get into Mama's truck and drive off. Where were they going? And were they going to walk all the way there?

Then he heard a click, and Jane picked up. _"Hello?"_ she said cautiously. _"Who's this?"_

"Hey, Janeway," Duck said. "It's me."

_"Oh, it's - hey, Duck! I was wonderin' when you were going to call. The hell you callin' from?"_

"Amnesty Lodge," he said. He leaned back in the chair, still fiddling with the cord. "Sorry, I was out this morning and didn't have time to get back home - how are things?"

 _"Oh, you know. Same as last month,"_ Jane said. _"Reneé and I are -"_

"Ooh!" Duck wiggled his eyebrows, even though he knew Jane couldn't see him. "You and Reneé?"

Jane groaned. _"Stop that, you do this every damn time I bring her up."_ Reneé was one of Jane's friends from college; they'd met while Jane was out at Columbia getting her anthropology degree, and Reneé - apparently - fell head over heels for Jane and double majored in psych and anthropology just because of her. The two of them went to grad school together, and about ten years ago, they'd decided to partner on a research project in Honduras. They'd known each other for almost fifteen years - and yet, Duck had never had the chance to meet her. Just a couple of chats on the phone; she was really nice. Jane had come back to the states last summer to say hi to them all, but Reneé had been nowhere to be seen. He really hoped he'd get to meet her in person.

Jane turned away from the phone. _"Yeah, he's makin' fun of me again,"_ she said, to someone else in the room. Duck grinned. _"You wanna talk to him, or -? Oh, nevermind. ‘Kay, have fun! Reneé's gonna grab some lunch for us,"_ she said to Duck. _"I don't know how to cook for shit, but man, she knows someone who makes really good_ baleadas."

"Cool, cool," Duck said. "Glad you're havin' fun. I -" He paused, and shifted on the couch a little. "Y'know, I miss you."

Jane laughed softly. _"No, you don't."_

"Yes, I do. You and Reneé've spent - fuck, almost a century out there. You ever going to bring her back here?"

 _"You never know,"_ Jane said mysteriously. Then she cleared her throat and fell silent for a bit. _"Well - Duck, I kinda. Uh. Hate to get real heavy this early on in the call, but... man, Reneé is just..."_

"What?"

 _"I..."_ Jane laughed softly. _"Well. I love her, Duck."_

"Aww."

_"I do. And - well - we've kind of been..."_

She trailed off. Duck almost dropped the phone. "Y'all are _datin'_ now?" he yelped.

 _"I mean, yeah,"_ Jane said. _"Where have you been for the last five fuckin' years, Duckard?"_

 _"Five years -_ no, I'm just messing with you, just messin' with you," Duck said hastily. On the other end, Jane audibly threw her head back and started cackling. "Man. I'm happy for you, Jane. I can't wait to meet her. I mean - you've told me so much about her that I feel like I know her already."

 _"Yeah,"_ Jane said softly. _"She said the same thing about you."_ Duck smiled. _"She's lookin' forward to meetin' you. I'll definitely bring her by Kepler to say hi when I come home in May."_

Duck really did drop the phone that time. He could hear Jane's voice, tinny and distant, say, _"Shit, Duck, you okay?"_

"Yeah! I'm just peachy. Holy _shit,_ when were you plannin' on telling me you were coming back this May?"

_"...Today."_

"Wow, thanks for the fuckin' warning! Holy shit, I'm - that's great, I can't wait to see you again!" Duck said. "And hey, you can meet some of my friends, too."

_"Oh, yeah, Aubrey and - and Ned, you told me 'bout them last time."_

"Yeah. They're doin' real well."

 _"Mmm."_ Jane was silent for a while; Duck waited for her to speak, and felt a strange sense of foreboding, until Jane said, _"What about you?"_

"What about me?"

_"D'you... y'know, have anyone for me to meet, too?"_

The question hit him like a freight train. For once, Duck felt like he could say yes. The words swelled up in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to say them out loud - but for some reason, he hesitated. As if speaking it into existence would make it, somehow, less real. There was a flash of memory that made his throat constrict: hands combing through his hair, a glimmer of reddish-brown eyes, legs tangled under the blankets in the gloom of early morning.

"You know what," he said. "I do."

_"Oh, shit! Since when!"_

"Since like. Last night. Kind of. Here, lemme tell you about him - his name's Indrid..."

* * *

The moment Barclay had met his eyes, down in the basement, Ned knew that they needed to get the fuck out of the Lodge.

Well. Him. Specifically, him. Ned had spent the night at the Lodge, in an unfamiliar bed in a strange room by himself, because it was too late to hike on back to the Cryptonomica. It wasn't like he wanted to go, knowing that the Ashminder was still prowling around, but still. He didn't like change. Ned felt safe in that grungy old museum, where he knew where all the exits were, where he'd hidden all the machetes, daggers, and random firearms. Being in the Lodge - no matter how cozy it was - was stressing him out. He didn't just lose sleep last night because of Stern. He just wanted to fucking go home.

So. He was going home. Like it or lump it.

But when their meeting ended, Barclay came up to him and said something that made Ned instantly change his mind. "You headin' back home?" he said quietly.

"Yeah, probably," Ned said.

"I'll come with you."

"Pshh, no, don't bother," Ned said, waving a hand. "I know we have the whole... you know, partners rule, but I'll be fine."

"I don't just want to tag along because of you, Ned," Barclay said. He grimaced, looking down at the ground. "I - remember that night, you told me that you'd be willin' to take me down there, just to get a refresher on all those sightings?"

"Yeah?"

Barclay's eyes met his. "Well, I'm cashing in on that now."

Immediately, Ned felt a rush of cold panic sweep through him. "Oh, no," he said. "No, no, we're not doing that. Barclay, you don't want to -"

"Yes, I do," Barclay said firmly. "I told you then that I needed to know, and I'm tellin' you now."

"Half of those aren't even real -!"

"Yeah, I know, because most of them weren't even my fault," Barclay said. "If I - y'know, match up the gaps in my head to what I know, and then cross-reference against what I _don't_ -"

"Usin' big words isn't gonna convince me," Ned said firmly. "I'm not gonna -"

"Ned Chicane, shut up and listen to me."

And Barclay reached out, put both hands on Ned's shoulders, and forced Ned to look directly at him. Ned's knees buckled a bit. "It's not going to hurt me, Ned," Barclay said, softly but firmly. "There's not much that can these days. I'll be alright." He gently squeezed Ned's shoulders, and Ned felt it all the way down in his joints, a kind of warmth burning deep in his bones. He stared at Barclay's face; the man was smiling faintly at him, a strange - almost wistful - look in his eyes, and he wondered for the briefest of seconds what would happen if he reached up and squeezed Barclay's hand.

"We're gonna go," Barclay said.

Ned swallowed, nodded, and grabbed his coat off the rack by the door. "Yeah," he said. "We're gonna go. Walk or drive?"

"Eh... we can walk, it's not too cold," Barclay said, opening the door. " 'Sides, Mama's probably gonna need her truck, if she's gonna head on out to the gate."

" 'Not too cold' - you're a walking space heater, 'course you're not _cold,_ " Ned grumbled. God, he was really regretting not taking the Snowcat up yesterday morning. He swiped a hat, a pair of mittens, and a scarf - none of them his - from the rack and put them on, cinching the scarf tight around his neck. "The Cryptonomica's a bit of a hike."

"Leo's got a hot cocoa machine set up in his store now," Barclay said. His breath crystallized in great clouds in front of him, like he was a smoking dragon. "That's about halfway between, we'll make a pit stop there."

And they set out into the streets of Kepler.

Late morning in Kepler, especially in winter, was always a bit of a frenzy. A fresh layer of snow had fallen last night; kids were dragging their sleds to the nearby hills, a straggling handful of tourists were driving up to Mount Kepler to ski, and everyone was out clearing the sidewalks and streets of snow. It was Martin Luther King, Jr. day, anyway, so school was closed and pretty much everyone had the day off work. Except Leo, apparently; his store was open, and the parking lot was pretty full. Most people did their grocery shopping on Mondays, after Leo restocked the store on Sunday nights. Ned and Barclay moseyed down the hill, both trying not to slip on the snow, and headed inside.

Inside, it was a madhouse. The line for the hot cocoa machine stretched nearly to the door, and it was mostly kids with their parents holding ice skates and sleds. The lake out back of Duck's apartment complex was a popular spot for ice skaters, and there was a hill right next to it that was great for sledding. If you hit the brakes and steered away from the ice, that is. Duck once told him about going sledding on Refuge Hill when he was a kid - one time, he saw someone go rocketing down the hill, skid onto the ice, and go clean across the lake to the other side. Ned immediately called bullshit, until Duck's friend Juno confirmed that it happened and that she, in fact, was that kid. What a tale.

Still. This cocoa machine was a hell of a honeypot. Maybe Ned would get one installed by the soda machine at the Cryptonomica, too. That might bring in some more customers. The line here was _ridiculous._

"Well," Barclay said, staring at the line. "Shit."

"Yeah," Ned said. "Not ideal. Tell you what, how about you stand in line and -" Then Ned caught a flash of silvery hair behind the cash register, and his jaw dropped open. "Holy fuck, is that -?"

"Indrid?" Barclay finished. His eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his greying hairline. "What the hell is he _doing?_ "

Sure enough, Indrid was manning the cash register, scanning people's items and bagging them and carrying on conversations with people like he'd done this sort of thing his whole life. He was wearing that same blue sweater with the white pattern, which looked a bit more stained - but he looked like he'd cleaned up a bit. No, a lot. His hair was fluffy and grease-free, his skin a bit less grubby. And he was smiling. His nose was running like Usain Bolt, and every now and then he took sips from a steaming mug of tea, but still. He looked _good._

"Huh," Ned said. "Maybe _I_ need a stay at the Casa Del Duck, if that meant I'd come out looking like that."

"Yeah, no kidding," Barclay muttered. Then he blinked, his head whipping around to stare at Ned. "Wait, what?"

"You didn't know? Indrid was stayin' over at Duck's place last night," Ned said. Barclay's eyebrows flew up again. "Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Bet he _really_ likes the new pairing rule that Mama's settin' up."

"I don't know who you're referrin' to with that, and I'm afraid to ask," Barclay said flatly. "I'm gonna -"

And Barclay suddenly went still, staring into the front corner of the store. "What the hell," he breathed.

"What?"

"I - I thought I saw - no, I definitely saw -" Barclay grabbed Ned's shoulders again - now this was just _unfair,_ Barclay was way bigger than him but he didn't have to flaunt it like that - and steered him towards the end of the cocoa line. "Someone's here," he said curtly. "I gotta talk to her."

"Wait, 'her'?" Ned craned his neck to get a better look, but he didn't see anyone out of the ordinary.

"Yeah - I'll talk to you 'bout her later, gimme one sec." And with that, Barclay ducked into the shelves and headed for the canned foods section at the front.

Ned craned his neck to get a better look at where Barclay was headed, but he wouldn't be able to get a good look unless he got out of line. He looked at the front - where a couple of harried parents were trying to cram four or five cups into a couple of paper drink holders - and over at the shelves where Barclay had disappeared. He couldn't see the top of Barclay's head over them, but he did see some extremely curly red hair. Jesus. Someone taller than Barclay? Ned didn't think that was physically possible.

Oh, well. He was close enough to the end of the line that it didn't matter. Ned crept out of line - gesturing towards his spot, for the benefit of the kids behind him - and snuck off to the canned foods. He peered around the corner. There were Leo and Barclay - but they were both talking to a strange woman that Ned had never seen before in his life. Ned froze in place. Not because he thought she was attractive - well, objectively speaking, she was _beautiful,_ but he was gay. Not his area. No, he stopped in place because she was _terrifying._

The woman had to be at least six foot five, broad-shouldered and forbidding, towering over both Leo and Barclay; the lines of her face were cold and harsh as the Arctic. She wore a long black trench coat with patched elbows, and leaned on a massive, gnarled oak staff that reached her shoulder, capped on both ends with metal. It was easily taller than Ned by a couple inches. Her curly red hair cascaded almost to her waist. Ned saw tattoos curling up her hands and around her neck, and rings gleaming in the cartilage of her ears.

She shifted slightly, and her whole posture changed, into something regal and, if possible, even more imposing. Her eyes drifted away and met his. And Ned immediately felt a deluge of frozen water cascade into his soul. Those eyes - they were black as night, but with a hint of blue in them like deep, dark waters. He suddenly felt as if he were staring into the Mariana Trench, at some great, terrible, nameless beast stirring far beneath the waves -

"Ned!"

He flinched. Barclay moved between him and the strange woman, frowning at him. "What the hell?" he said. "Ned, I thought you were gettin' cocoa, what's goin' on -?"

"I just -"

"Barclay." The woman's voice was smooth, low, almost cold and toneless in a way that sent a shiver down Ned's spine. She didn't sound angry, though. "I'm on my way. Don't worry too much," she said, gripping her staff.

Barclay glanced at Ned again. Ned grimaced at him and tilted his head back towards the cocoa line. Barclay's mouth tightened, and he nodded once, before turning back to the strange woman. "Okay, Ness, you're gonna head out?"

"Yes."

"Cool. Uh - yeah, the Lodge's kind of a mess. Just..." Barclay's voice lowered into a whisper. Ned heard snatches of words - "leave Dani alone unless she talks to you," and "take your time" - but the rest was lost. He silently crept back to the cocoa line; the woman's eyes followed him, unblinking. As Ned subtly cut ahead in line, pretending to examine some tomatoes on a shelf by the machine, he saw Barclay and the woman shake hands. Barclay said one last thing to her before she left that made her laugh - a short, sarcastic bark - before striding outside and getting into a beat-up old green Jeep.

Ned got the hot cocoas and slid over to the register. Indrid Cold, the man himself, gave him a thin smile and keyed in his purchase, his fingers slipping on the keys. "Hey, Ned," he said hoarsely. "How's it goin'?"

"Good enough, I guess," Ned said. "The hell are you doing here?"

"Duck dropped me off here while he went to your guys' meeting," Indrid said. "I... got stuck doing this. It was an accident."

"That's... unfortunate. Listen, uh -" Ned looked over his shoulder; from here, he had a clear shot of the aisle where the woman was standing, and now Leo and Barclay were talking quietly to each other about something else. "You, uh... have any idea who that woman was, Indrid?"

The man grimaced. "$2.79," he said, holding out his hand. Ned handed him a five. "Yeah. I know her. She, uh, used to live at the Lodge, way back when... when. She's one of us." Indrid cleared his throat, glanced around the store, and sighed. "Uh, Ned?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't, uh... happen to know how to print receipts from this thing, by any chance?" Indrid whispered nervously, glancing around. He closed the cash drawer and stared at him, a panicked shine in his eyes. "I've been telling everyone that the printer's broken, and I don't know how-"

"Oh, shit, yeah," Ned said, leaning over the counter to look. His elbow nudged the cocoa cups; Indrid hurriedly dragged them away before they spilled. "There. That button, on the screen, just push that. Ask 'em if they want one, though, not everyone -"

"Do you?"

"Nope."

"Fair enough. Okay, thanks. Have a good one," Indrid said, waving a hand to dismiss him. "Don't get into too much trouble."

"Your confidence in me is astounding," Ned drawled, picking up the cocoa cups. The warmth seeped through into his hands, making his joints loosen up a bit. Indrid gave him a mock salute and turned to help the next customer.

Ned sauntered over to Leo and Barclay. "Alrighty, one hot cocoa comin' right up," he said, passing it to Barclay. "Hey, Leo."

"Hey, Nedward," Leo said wearily.

"I see you're making Indrid work for his keep over there, huh?"

Leo started to nod, but immediately froze and stared over. "Wait - oh, shit," he said, sprinting for the cash register. He called over his shoulder, "I'll talk to you later, Barclay!"

"Sure thing," Barclay called back, taking a sip of his hot cocoa. "Have a good one!"

"You too!" Leo hurriedly ushered Indrid away from the cash register, pressing the mug of tea into his hands, and practically shoved him back down onto a bench behind the checkout desk. Indrid rolled his eyes and said something Ned couldn't quite hear - but he still looked relieved.

"Well," Barclay sighed, tilting his head towards the door. "Onward?"

"Sure thing, buddy."

They headed out into the parking lot of Leo's store, sipping their hot cocoa and wincing as it burned their tongues. "So," Ned said. "Who was that?"

"An old friend," Barclay said simply. He stared straight ahead, squinting into the street. "She's... like us."

"Yeah, I gathered. What is she?"

"She _was_ the Loch Ness monster," Barclay said meaningfully, glancing at Ned and taking a sip of his cocoa.

Ned frowned. "What does that mean?"

Barclay grimaced. "It's a bit of a soft spot for her," he said quietly. "I'd ask her about it, she doesn't like other people talkin' bout her line of work. She does tattoos."

"Oh, neat," Ned said idly. They hit the center of town and turned onto the street that would take them to the Cryptonomica. He tried to tell a joke, to tamp down the spike of nerves that went through his gut. "Maybe I'll ask her to do that Pine Guard tattoo - I was only half-kidding that time."

Barclay hummed idly and said nothing.

The Cryptonomica was closed today - just like most of the businesses in town, for MLK Day - but Ned could see a light on inside. Probably Kirby. That wouldn't do. If Barclay was going to be paging through records and trying to find clues, there was no way in hell that Kirby would be around. Besides, the closer they got, the more Ned could feel himself turning into a nervous wreck. Barclay'd insisted on coming here, but he'd never been, and that was a good thing. The Bigfoot exhibit didn't paint him in the best light.

And despite everything Barclay said to the contrary, Ned was dead certain that the thing would piss him off. Barclay was - hell, he was a soft, kind, gentle man. Everything that Ned wasn't. If Ned had known what Barclay was back then - if he'd known that Bigfoot was _Barclay,_ the man who'd mixed him a drink at the Lodge once upon a time - he never would've done any of this. Never.

"Is that... kid supposed to be in there?" Barclay said, peering through the glass door.

Ned made a face, fumbling for his keys to unlock the door. His fingers skimmed over the old keys for the Lincoln Continental, and he felt a dull ache in his chest. "That's just Kirby," he said. "He writes for the _Lamplighter._ I'll shoo him out, don't worry."

"That's good. Thanks," Barclay said. Ned glanced in the window at Barclay's reflection, as he unlocked the door. The man looked - troubled. Hollow. As if he was staring into a graveyard, or at a broken mirror. God, this was such a bad idea. Ned gritted his teeth and pushed the door open.

At his little desk in the corner, Kirby was typing away at his laptop. " G'mornin', Ned," he said absentmindedly, staring at the screen.

"Hey there, Kirby," Ned said, trying to sound nonchalant. Behind him, there was a loud _thunk_ ; he turned and saw that Barclay had stubbed his toe on an end table by the door, and was hurriedly propping up some kitschy souvenirs he'd knocked over. "This is, uh... Barclay. A friend of mine, who works down at Amnesty Lodge."

"Neat," Kirby said. He glanced over at them, back at his computer, and then at the two of them again. "Very cool. Welcome to the Cryptonomica, Mr...?"

"Just Barclay is fine," the man said, with a kind smile. Ned saw the tightness around his eyes, though, and sighed heavily, looking at the floor.

"What brings y'all here? We're closed, technically -"

"He's just taking a look around," Ned said. "Never had the chance to come around here before; figured he'd see what all they hype was about," he said meaningfully, turning to Barclay and raising his eyebrows. Barclay winced slightly, nodded once, and started wending between the exhibits, not really looking at them too closely. "You know, Kirby, you don't have to be here."

"Yeah, I know."

"We're closed, technically - why don't you just... run along, do your writing and reporting somewhere else," Ned said. "You might be able to, ah... write a nice variety piece, on the cocoa machine at Leo's store. There's plenty of small children and parents there who'd just _love_ to talk about their day off."

"Well then, Ned, why don't you just write the damn article yourself," the kid said, with a wry smile. Ned rolled his eyes. "Alright, I can take a hint. Hell of a place for a date, if I do say so myself -"

"I'm firing you," Ned said, with a pleasant smile. "C'mon, Kirby. Out."

"Yessir." Kirby closed his laptop, packed his stuff up, and left, giving Ned a thumbs up and a wink. Ned sighed and closed the door behind him. He'd left a half-drunk can of Dr. Pepper on his desk; Ned swept it into the trash can.

Then he turned back. Barclay was nowhere to be seen.

Ned stared around the darkened inside of the Cryptonomica. Frankly, he didn't get how Kirby wasn't creeped out by the place; all the lights were out, and in its half-shadow, all the exhibits looked like they were about to spring to terrible, hideous life. He thought about turning the lights on but stopped, his hand halfway to the light switch. "Barclay?" he said quietly. "Where are you?"

He heard footsteps at the end of one row, by the display cases. Ned headed for them. As he got closer, Barclay emerged from the gloom like an iceberg in the night, standing still and examining a display on brownies with an inordinate amount of care. For some reason, Ned didn't want to disturb him; he just watched Barclay watch the display, greying eyebrows drawn together over his strangely blank eyes.

This part of the Cryptonomica wasn't one of Ned's favorites, to be completely honest. The cases were bolted to the floor in a disorganized pattern, no rhyme or reason to the sorting at all - and they were nearly impossible to remove and rearrange. The floor had been tiled right over the bases of the display cases, and he wouldn't be able to shift them unless he tore up the whole floor. And he didn't have the money for that. These small displays - about twenty or thirty of them - were the only ones that Ned hadn't made himself. With the others - like the Bigfoot, Jersey Devil, Mothman, and Loch Ness Monster ones - he'd been able to add a bit of sensational flair, hoping people would like the mystery of it.

Well. There was a real monster in the Cryptonomica, now. Ned was really starting to regret agreeing to bring Barclay here. Savage and bloodthirsty were not words that Ned would assign to Barclay in any lifetime.

Barclay took a deep breath, sighed, and straightened up. He gazed across the museum, at the display cases and towering bookshelves piled high with merch. "You know," he said quietly.

Ned was silent.

"I knew most of these folks," Barclay said. He reached up and scrubbed at his face, as if hurriedly brushing away tears. And the feeling that Ned had fucked up increased _spectacularly._

"How?" Ned whispered.

Barclay turned and wove further into the Cryptonomica, glancing at the display cases as he went. The security lights threw everything into stark black-and-white shadow, like paper cutouts. "The woman who owned this place 'fore you," he said quietly, "was Mama's cousin Victoria. She and Mama kinda... grew apart over the years, 'til you came along and took the place over. Wasn't always a museum, not even then."

He took a deep breath and tapped a display case with a fake set of vampire teeth in them, carved painstakingly from plastic. The previous owner - Mama's cousin - had put them there. "This place," he said heavily, "was a... a mausoleum."

His eyes lifted to Ned's. "There used to be more of us. A lot more."

"How many?"

"Count these original exhibits, and you got a number," Barclay said, turning his back on Ned. Ned looked down the rows of cases, towards the shadow-shrouded back of the Cryptonomica, and swallowed. Barclay skimmed the displays and paused in front of one, running his fingers over the placard. In the display case was a cow's hoof, painted a dark red with a nail driven through it. "Oh, this one. Oh, man. Jersey Devil, what a fuckin’ disaster of a man."

Barclay paused. "I knew him. Y'know that Shrimp Incident of '67? He was the one drivin' the truck that Indrid and I crashed into, back then. Stole the whole damn thing and was gonna... I dunno, sell it? Eat it? Who fuckin' knows. We took 'im in, tried to teach him how to be a decent man. Almost managed it, too. The guy could've been the Pope by the time '98 rolled around, he was so on the straight and narrow. Then the Ashminder got him -"

"Wait - what -"

"And he just.... forgot," Barclay said lamely, waving a hand. It was as if he couldn't hear Ned speaking at all. "He forgot how to be human, I guess. Ran off, and we ain't ever seen him since."

And he kept drifting back, and back, and all Ned could do was follow him in terrified silence. God, he hadn't known; all this time, he'd been peddling his wares in a monument to the dead, like some kind of - some kind of _sicko._ He wanted nothing more than to grab Barclay's hand and drag him out of the back room, into the sunlight, away from the ghosts of his dead friends. Barclay didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this - he didn't need to be reminded that, despite everything, he'd _survived_ -

But it was too late to stop him. Barclay was already there. Ned took a deep breath, trying to ignore how his chest was threatening to cave in on itself, and followed

Ned had shoved the Bigfoot exhibit to one of the back walls, after the video started getting popular. Like the eggs and milk in grocery stores, you know - it increased traffic through the other areas, made people linger for a while longer. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now... now it just hurt even more. Shoulders stiff, as if he was walking to an execution, Barclay stepped up to the exhibit and looked it over.

There were a handful of display cases. Fake dropping casts, fake nail clippings, a wad of hair that Ned had stolen from Barclay's hairbrush and stuck in the case for a gag. That life-sized portrait he'd gotten commissioned way back when was hanging proudly above them all. Barclay paused in front of it and stare up, and up; the glass over the portrait's face was blurred, and Ned could see their two reflections overlapping.

Then Barclay chuckled, and the sound made Ned jump; his reflection smiled. Somehow, that made Ned feel even guiltier than before. "They never get my eyes right," he said softly.

There was a "map" of Bigfoot sightings that Ned had gotten custom-made in Charleston. Barclay glanced at it and sighed quietly. "Holy shit," he muttered.

"Yeah," Ned said awkwardly. The thing looked like a drunk toddler had shot a dart gun at it thousands of times. "That's... probably not accurate."

"No, it's not," Barclay said, bending over to look at the map. Ned slowly joined him. "Man, this - this ain't right. I've... only killed one man, Ned, 'n that was in self defense, back in 1880-somethin'. I don't take well to people tryin' to capture me."

"Understandable."

"All those disappearances..." Barclay laughed softly. "All me. Literally. Sometimes I slipped up, got complacent, went for a walk in the woods to stretch my Bigfoot legs, and, well... someone noticed me, and I had to pack it out of town. Change my disguise. All the people that they say got killed 'n eaten by Bigfoot... that's just me. Bet that's gonna throw a wrench in Stern's' whole... situation."

He sighed, scratching his nose. Ned could see the wheels turning in Barclay's brain. "As for the sightings... Well, I know for _sure_ that I've never been to Louisiana. So that whole chunk of the country west of Georgia is out," he said, tapping the map with his finger. "Arizona? Never been there, either. That was my uncle Moggy's, uh... domain, I guess. I used to have family out in Oregon, and old Moggy hung out in the desert until - until they -"

Barclay sighed sharply, running a hand over his face again. Ned hesitantly reached out and put a hand on Barclay's shoulder. "Hey," he said softly. "You wanna - wanna talk about it, or -?"

"Yeah. I - I promised you, anyway," Barclay said heavily. He straightened up, leaning against the display case full of fake turd casts. "Well. Like I said, the Ashminder carved us down real bad. It had a physical form back then, and did a hell of a lot more damage. It didn't even have to get you in those talons to start takin' away memories, Ned, it could just... touch you with one of those nasty hands, and start stealin' shit right away. It can still do that these days, y'know - just not as bad. Just makes things go a little fuzzy."

"Jesus," Ned breathed.

Barclay nodded. "Yeah. It's a bad, bad thing, Ned Chicane, and for what it's worth, I - " He sighed sharply, winced, and rubbed his chest. His hand stayed there, in an oddly sincere gesture that made Ned's throat close up. "For what it's worth," Barclay said, "I don't want you to go through what any of these folks in here did. I really don't, Ned."

Ned didn't know what to say.

"I got a question for you, Ned," Barclay said softly. Ned just nodded. "Are... are you my friend?"

 _Are you my friend?_ The words punched through him like the tolling of a giant bell. He knew what to say. How else was he was supposed to respond to that? "You know it," Ned whispered.

"Then please, listen to me when I say this, Ned, I'm - I don't beg, Ned, but I'm beggin' now, okay?" There was a note of urgency in Barclay's voice that almost scared him. The other man stepped forward, completely eclipsing the Bigfoot portrait behind him. "From one friend to another, man, please - keep yourself safe. Don't - don't go glorifyin' what the Ashminder does, okay?" A weight sunk into Ned's stomach. Did - how did he -

"That thing," Barclay said desperately, stepping foward again, "is evil. I don't go throwin' that word around lightly, okay? It's - it's - " He huffed and gripped his hair, pain stark and sharp in his eyes. "Dani had a sister, okay?" he blurted out.

_"What?"_

"She had a sister, named Evelyn, and the Ashminder fuckin' _obliterated_ the poor girl," Barclay said. "Got her just as bad as it got Stern, if not worse. She gave it so many memories - happy, sad, angry, whatever - it scrubbed her clean. She didn't even know her own _name,_ Ned. It killed her, and - fuck, I don't want that to happen to you, Ned, holy fuckin' _shit_ -”

Barclay was really starting to scare Ned now. The man's hands were starting to shake - he was getting real worked up about this, and Ned knew in his gut that Barclay was dead serious. More serious than he'd been about anything in his life.

"I - I dunno if this is gonna make any sense to you," Barclay whispered. Every word he said was heavy, meaningful, slamming into Ned like a sledgehammer. "But - Ned,  I've lost friends, I've lost family to this thing, and I don't -" His voice rose. "I don't want to fuckin' lose you too, okay? You - you matter to me a hell of a lot more than you might think, Ned, I -"

He took a deep breath, cried out softly, and clutched his ribs, where the bandages from yesterday's attack still covered the Ashminder's wounds. "Ow. Fuck," he whispered.

"Hey, shh," Ned said softly, coming towards him. Barclay slumped forward a bit, and Ned took a chance and caught him. It wasn't quite a picture-perfect embrace - it was kind of awkward, getting his arms around him, and a bit stiff as Ned tried to avoid messing with the bandages more. But it was enough. It would be enough. "Man, listen to me," Ned said, patting Barclay gently on the back. "I'm so damn sorry for bringin' you here. But - I swear on my grave in Tulsa that I'm gonna keep myself safe. For you."

Barclay was silent for a while, his arms wrapped tightly around Ned's body. If the hug was any tighter, Ned swore his ribs would break then and there. "You," he said softly, "have a grave in _Tulsa?"_

"Long story for another time," Ned said automatically. Then an idea occurred to him. He smiled slowly. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Hm?"

"Remember what Aubrey said back in the, uh, situation room? 'Bout arming up and all?"

"Yeah?"

He pulled back a little to look at Barclay's face. The man was staring down at him, a bit confused and really fuckin' tired. Ned gave him a slow, soft grin. "Why don't we go in the back and make some happy memories, eh?"

Barclay's eyebrows flew up. Man, he did that a lot. "Sorry, what?" he croaked.

"I got some drinks and movies in my back room," Ned said. "The... Inner Sanctum, if you will. Whaddya say - just a couple of old coots, drinking wine and swappin' stories while old movies play in the background?"

Barclay kept staring at him. Ned tried to think back, to see if he'd said anything wrong, but came up empty. But honestly, the other man was warm and heavy in his arms, and if he stopped looking at Ned like he’d been smacked with a frying pan, he really wouldn't mind doing this for longer.

"I can tell you 'bout the time I faked my death, and a friend and I fiddled seven thousand dollars out of some old coot's pocket. Does that sound good to you?" Ned said, grinning.

And Barclay smiled back. "That sounds fuckin' great," he said. He squeezed Ned again, nearly crushing the breath out of him, and let go, practically powerwalking back to the front desk. "I'll give the Lodge a call, tell 'em I'm stayin' out here," he called over his shoulder. "You get the shit set up - I'll be right back there."

"You'll be mixing the drinks, right?" Ned shouted.

"You know it!"

Ned pumped his fist and grabbed his keys, tossing them in the air and catching them. He headed back to the Inner Sanctum, where he had a couch and a projector set up. Time to dust everything off. Man, this was gonna be _fun._

* * *

It had been worth it. It had been so, so worth it.

Aubrey and Dani had combed over the kitchen for almost a whole hour, naming random objects and using them in sentences, and feeding Dr. Harris Bonkers carrot pieces and bits of parsley from the fridge. _Zanahorias, perejil._ Dani was a good student, and hung on Aubrey's every word. They drifted out into the living room, dodging Duck - who was on the phone with his sister - and naming things all over the Lodge. The whole time, Aubrey felt her stomach fluttering with each word, hearing her language being spoken in Dani's soft, sweet voice. It made her breathless. God, she knew she'd treasure this memory for as long as she lived.

"I think this is goin' well," Dani said, after they'd rooted through their bedroom looking for things to name. She went over to the dresser in the corner, pulling out a couple of swimsuits. They looked a lot like long-sleeved leotards, which would probably do them some good in the frigid weather. "Want to go for a soak in the - uh - _aguas calores?_

Aubrey almost burst out laughing. God, she sounded like such a dork. "Spanish lesson's over for today," she said cheerfully, taking the suit. Dani flushed red, clearly trying not to laugh. "I'll go change into this, and we'll take a nice break."

And so there they were, in the hot springs out back of the lodge, just soaking in the hot water and having the most relaxing time of their lives. Girl soup. A little Sylph stew. Man, this felt great. Aubrey sighed and slipped a little further into the water, feeling its heat crawl up her neck and the steam start threading through her hair. This was _great._

Next to her, Dani had fallen asleep - folded her arms on the side of the springs, rested her head on them, and just promptly dozed off. Her head was turned towards Aubrey as she slept, and the water lapped gently around her chest. Above the neck of her swimsuit, that dark, round bruise from the Ashminder glared back at Aubrey like a malevolent eye.

Aubrey sighed and turned away, looking up at the cold grey sky. It looked like it might start snowing again.

This was... damn it. She wanted to relax in these hot springs, for fuck's sake, but the reality of this whole thing was - they couldn't relax. Even now. Aubrey wondered absently if there was some kind of ward around the Lodge protecting it from the Ashminder - or if that was even a thing that existed - because nobody had ever been attacked here. There was no guarantee, though. It could come for them at any minute.

And Jesus Christ, if it came for them, it could get them _bad._ Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of Stern's voice, stuck saying those words like a scratched record - trying not to think of a girl with Dani's face, closing her eyes and plunging over a waterfall.

That was the thing. That was the other thing that had been bugging Aubrey, ever since last night. They never found Evelyn's body, and even though Barclay searched and searched for her, all he found was some blood on the riverbank. That couldn't be it. For Dani's sake, Aubrey hoped that wasn't it. She'd given memory after memory, fighting off the Ashminder; who was to say - and Aubrey knew this sounded horrible, but it was still a possibility - who was to say that Dani didn't _forget_ that her sister was still alive?

Aubrey opened her eyes, staring up at the ash-grey sky. The Monongahela National Forest wasn't that big. An amnesiac girl with a stunningly familiar face wouldn't be that hard to find. She could do this. She _could._

But where could she start?

And then a ghostly, spectral face suddenly loomed over her, and Aubrey flinched so hard she slipped beneath the surface of the water. She spluttered and pulled herself out. "Moira, what the _fuck?_ " she hissed.

The ghost Moira looked back at her placidly, one eyebrow raised. "Hi," she said simply. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"No, no, I - sorry," Aubrey said. She stifled a sneeze; damn, that water really went down the wrong pipe. "What's up?"

Moira sighed, and folded her hands in her lap, sitting cross-legged at the side of the hot springs with one foot in the water. "I... have a question," she said slowly. "Do you folks... have a plan to stop the Ashminder?"

Aubrey swallowed. "...No," she said reluctantly.

Moira sniffed. "That's what I figured," she said.

"Hey, we're doing our best -!"

"I don't doubt that at all," Moira said quickly. "I... do have a few suggestions."

Her face was oddly pinched, as if she was thinking of something that both terrified and disgusted her. Aubrey nodded slowly and dragged herself out of the water a bit, ignoring the frigid bite of the winter air on the rest of her body. "Okay, fire away," she said.

"I... was not around for the first attack," Moira admitted. "I died in Sylvain, became a - well, a ghost, and crossed over in about 2007. But I lived in Sylvain long enough to find out some things." She swallowed. "About the world, and - its magic."

Aubrey's eyebrows flew up.

"I - admit," Moira said hesitantly, "that I may be wrong, so I hesitate to share my theory with you. But when you get the chance, go to Sylvain. They might not have answers about the Ashminder; if I recall, they didn't give you much information about the Beast, and the Water, and the Tree. But there are spells you can use to track the magical - signatures, I suppose, of creatures and Sylphs..."

It was like someone had fiddled with a radio antenna in Aubrey's mind; she honed in on those words. _Magical signature._ "Oh, holy shit," she breathed. "Moira, I could track her."

" - and it can - sorry, what?" Moira said, blinking at her.

"You're on to something," Aubrey repeated, grinning at her. "I - I can - fuck, I don't have the time to explain, but you're right."

"I am?"

"You are! Fuck, holy damn. Uh - Shit, I have to go to Sylvain anyway," Aubrey said, drumming her fingers on the stone surrounding the hot springs. "I'll just - tag along with Mama tonight, Moira, you're a genius!" She hoisted herself out of the springs, hissing as the cold blasted her skin, and raced into the Lodge, wrapping a towel around her waist as she went. God, she was real grateful for those long-sleeved swimsuits.

As Aubrey stepped into the Lodge, she heard the front door open and shut. There was a beat of silence; then Mama's voice said something Aubrey couldn't quite make out. "Mama?" she called out. "Hey, can I ask you somethin'?"

There was silence. Aubrey frowned, tightened the towel around her waist, and headed down the hall to the main room. She peered around the corner and bit back a gasp.

Standing a few feet away from the main door was an insanely tall redheaded woman, who looked like she was torn straight from a book on Scottish folklore; her eyes were a deep, deep blue, shimmering like cobalt, and her red hair cascaded almost to her waist. Aubrey almost shrank away. The woman was fucking _terrifying,_ somehow, in a way that Aubrey couldn't put her finger on. Like she could gut her with a look. She looked to be in her mid-50s, but somehow... _felt_ older. It didn't help that she was drop-dead gorgeous, and stood tall and proud like some kind of regal, long-forgotten empress.

"Vanessa," Mama said, in the doorway to her office. And her voice was none too friendly. "What the _hell_ are you doing here? Thought you were okay out there in Berkeley Springs."

The woman took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Something almost vulnerable flickered across the sharp planes of her face, but it vanished before Aubrey could get a good look. "I got a call," she said quietly. Her voice was smooth, tinged with a Scottish accent. Vanessa lifted her chin, and her grip tightened on her staff, as if she was preparing herself to go into battle. "He - he told me that it's back. And this time, I want to help."

The silence in the room was so thick, Aubrey would be able to slice it up into bricks and build a house with it. Emotions flickered across Mama's face, almost too quickly for her to catch, but she finally settled on something... overwhelmed. Vulnerable. And _angry._ Without another word, Mama strode back into her office and closed the door.

Vanessa stared at the closed door for quite a long time. "Hm," she said at last. "Warm welcome."

And she shrugged off her coat and hung it up, as if nothing had happened. Aubrey kept staring at her, unable to tear her eyes away. The woman was wearing a gray knit sweater, and on the bare parts of her skin, Aubrey could see dozens of tattoos, far more than she herself had. They curled up her forearms, twined up her neck and into her hair, crossed her chest. She lifted her arms and stretched, and the hem of the sweater rode up; there was what looked like a small twisting snake tattooed on her left hip.

Then Vanessa turned to face her, and looked directly into her eyes. Aubrey felt as if she'd been pinned to the wall like a bug. Her eyes narrowed. Aubrey realized, with a sinking feeling of dread, that she'd forgotten to put her sunglasses back on. "Hi," she said. "Let's get the introductions out of the way. Vanessa McDougal. Loch Ness monster, erstwhile friend of Mama. You?"

Aubrey swallowed. "Aubrey Little," she said, clearing her throat. "Uh. Lady Flame?"

"I've heard of you," Vanessa said plainly.

"Oh, cool!" Aubrey said. "Um. I... live here? And I - I like your hair," she blurted out, before she could stop herself.

One corner of Vanessa's mouth lifted. "Thanks," she said. "I'm here to stay. Is there a spare room?"

* * *

They'd agreed to talk again soon. They'd said their goodbyes. And they'd hung up, the miles unspooling between them yet again. That had been a good call; Jane wanted to hear everything about Indrid that Duck was willing to say, and Duck said... well. He said basically everything short of "my new partner's the Mothman. Surprise." He knew enough to keep that under wraps. It was a good thing she didn't ask too many specific questions; he wouldn't be able to lie his way out of that for _shit._

Man, Duck really missed his sister sometimes. He couldn't wait until she came back to the states with Reneé. He sighed and stood up, cracking his neck. Speaking of Indrid - he had to head back to Leo's store to pick him up, now that the meeting was over. But -

His hands skimmed over his coat pockets, and for a hot second he thought he'd lost his wallet - or that Ned had stolen it again. And that reminded him. Shit. He was supposed to check his email for those files the folks in the state capital were sending his way. He might as well do it here, on the computer in the basement; it had a decent internet connection, and not a lot of people were using it. It would be fine.

Duck headed downstairs. Mama, Ned and Barclay were long gone, Ned and Barclay doing God knows what and Mama doing stuff in her office. The computer - a kind of old, battered Windows thing from almost fifteen years ago - was hanging out in the corner by the pool table; Duck slid into the seat, turned it on, and logged into his email.

Huh. Sure enough, there was an email from the State Archives there. Flagged as important and everything. Damn, that was fast - it was incredible that they'd been able to find any information on the guy. But this fast? Shit, someone upstairs was in their corner. This kind of thing almost never got done this fast. Duck scanned the subject line - there was a small file attached - and opened the email.

  
               _Richard,_  
               _Here are the files on the individual you requested we look at it. Unfortunately, this individual is an FBI employee, so the records are not as comprehensive as we would like, but this is the best we can do given the circumstances. If you have any questions, feel free to email me back at this same address. Thanks for your patience._  
                _Regards,_  
                _Carter Miller_  
                _State Archivist_

There was a file attached to the end of the email. Duck froze when he saw the file name.

_Stern_Garfield _Kent._

Oh, God. He knew that name.

That was his fucking kid cousin. The one who was always obsessed with Uncle Arnie's Secret Service and cop stories - one of the ones that moved out east when the family split, that they never heard back from again. Oh, Christ. Fucking Christ. Duck stared at the screen and slowly lowered his head into his hands.

That was his cousin upstairs in the bedroom, mind shattered beyond repair. That was his _cousin._

"Well," he said to himself, his voice hollow. Fucking _Christ._ "That's one mystery solved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> a few things:  
> 1\. thanks for reading, as always  
> 2\. i fucking told you all that the oneshot [the devil went down to georgia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181746) was going to become semi plot-relevant again. The Jersey Devil is going to be _back_ , babey. and not just in this chapter. please go give it a read.  
> 3\. it's late o'clock as i'm publishing this chapter, and i don't have much to say before i pass out from exhaustion. so i'm gonna let y'all do the talking for me. what did you guys think of this chapter? leave a comment or [swing by my tumblr and drop me an ask!](http://www.taako-waititi.tumblr.com/) i think i can officially say that the second half of the story is getting kicked off, so we're going to go some interesting places to tie up the story. i hope you're all looking forward to it. thanks so much for reading!


	12. A Little Less Conversation

In the Lodge’s main room, Vanessa leaned on her staff and said, “Is there a spare room?”

Aubrey heard a door creak open, then close. Soft footsteps approached, and she swallowed. Dani must have noticed she’d left the hot springs. “Uh,” she said. “I wouldn’t know? There might be a room, there’s not a lot of, uh… people hanging around right now, so probably -?”

“If there isn’t, that’s fine,” Vanessa said, drumming her fingers on her staff. Her voice was forceful, strong, as if everything she said was a cold hard declaration of truth. Her faint Scottish accent certainly helped. “I have a Plan B. If I’m not welcome here, I understand.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” Aubrey began.

“Vanessa?”

Aubrey froze, then looked over her shoulder. Dani was standing there, openmouthed; she’d put on a robe and was holding a towel, her still-damp hair dripping water onto the hallway carpet. “Is that - _Vanessa?”_ she repeated.

“In the flesh,” the woman said, smiling faintly. The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Hi, Dani.”

“Jesus Christ, hi! I - I didn’t know - what’re you doing here?” Dani put her towel on a nearby chair and brushed past Aubrey into the living room. “I thought you were stayin’ in Berkeley Springs.”

“Well,” Vanessa said. “A change in scenery always helps, you know what they say. Technically, I’m here on business.”

Dani paused. “Oh?”

“I never… formally retired from all this.” Vanessa gestured vaguely at the Lodge with the hand not holding her staff. “I’m here in case things go arse up again. This time I’m going to try and actually do something.” Dani tried to say something, but Vanessa held up a hand. “We can talk about this later,” she said. “For now, I think I’ll take a leaf out of your book and go out back; I could use a soak. Springs still hot?”

“Hot as ever,” Dani said, smiling. Vanessa headed towards the back door, but Dani caught her elbow before she could disappear down the hall. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

“Happy to hear it,” Vanessa said. “That makes at least one of us.” And with that, she swept off to the back door, still holding her staff; Aubrey ducked out of her way and pressed herself against the wall to let her pass, and to put some room between them, because now that they were this close Vanessa was fucking _terrifying._ She was taller than Barclay, who was easily the tallest person in the Lodge, and was built like Serena Williams. She just radiated intimidation. Aubrey bet that people would dive out of her way if she was walking down the street.

“So,” she said slowly, turning to Dani. “She’s… cool?”

“Yeah, that’s Ness for you,” Dani sighed. She picked up her towel and headed to her room. “C’mon, I’ll tell you ‘bout her.”

“Is she just gonna… jump in the hot springs like that? Sweater and all?”

“Nah, she’ll probably just… magic one on, I guess, I dunno,” Dani said. She pushed open the door to her room and started toweling off her hair. Aubrey flicked on the lights and pushed the door closed, leaving it open a crack. “Yeah, so - Vanessa’s an old friend of Mama’s. Sort of. She lived here back in the 90’s, but she’s been all over the damn world.”

“Yeah, Loch Ness Monster, she told me,” Aubrey said. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward so her hair wouldn’t drip on Dani’s bed. Dani tossed her a spare towel. “What - Mama doesn’t… like her, for some reason, what’s up with that?”

Dani grimaced. “Jeez, I don’t even know. They go back quite a while, to way before the Pine Guard. Mama might be a little ticked off because she left in ‘98, before… before the Ashminder shit started gettin’ bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s old as hell,” Dani sighed, sitting next to Aubrey on the edge of her bed. “About five thousand, give or take a few.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah, it’s… a lot. She’s older than all of us combined - she spent most of that in Sylvain. Didn’t come to Earth until… I want to say the late 19th century. She’s got a lot of memories, and, well - guess she knew that, when the Ashminder got Morgan, the oldest of us, she’d probably be next in line. So she packed up and went for Berkeley Springs. Mama’s still bitter ‘bout that, I guess -”

“And you’re not?”

Dani shrugged, twisting the towel up into one of those funky hair hats. Aubrey’s hair was nowhere long enough to do that. “Not… really, I guess,” she said slowly, tucking the end of the towel into place. “She wasn’t gonna be much help, anyway - she can do some magic with her staff, but her Sylvan form… not really good for combat unless we’re fightin’ a sea monster.”

“Right.”

“And. Well.” Dani swallowed, staring at the floor. “She can’t even turn into it anymore,” she said quietly. “She - she does tattoos, professionally, that was her schtick back in Sylvain and that’s what she does now. Back there, she could give you tats that might, y’know, make you stronger or have better reflexes or protect you from damage ‘n stuff. Real useful during the war - think she might’ve been a military consultant at one point. But… she got spotted in the 30s, goin’ for a swim out in Loch Ness, and shit got so bad that she didn’t trust herself not to slip up again. Tattooed a disguise spell right into her own body.”

Aubrey’s eyebrows flew up. “Wait - so, she can’t change back, or -?”

“No,” Dani said, shaking her head. “Not unless she tears the spell right out of her body, and that’s gonna hurt like hell. There’ve… been a few people who took advantage of what she could do. Government got wind of them or something, and they had to hide because they were on their tail. Tattoos count, I guess. Skin-to-skin contact.”

She slowly twisted the ring on her right hand, watching it glint in the light. “It’s… a big risk, and not everyone wants to take it. You can’t change back, unless the tattoo’s destroyed or Vanessa herself lifts the spell. And bein’ stuck in human form for too long does real weird things to ya - to your magic, your body. It doesn’t… it’s not for everyone. Barclay considered it once, way back when, but…”

“Never did, yeah,” Aubrey said. “Ned - Jesus, if he’d ever gotten one of those tattoos, would probably be dead by now. Remember, the bobcat -”

“Yeah,” Dani said. She sighed, unwound her hair from the towel, and put her head on Aubrey’s shoulder. Aubrey gently squeezed her knee. “Anyway,” Dani said softly, “Vanessa’s real sweet, when you get to know her. Whatever was goin’ on with her and Mama’s not really any of my business, I guess. But she’s been good to me ‘n the Lodge, and it’s… nice to have her back.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey said. “She seems… pretty cool. Scary, but cool,” she added, and Dani laughed, shifting closer to her. She looped an arm around Dani’s shoulders, gently drumming her fingers against her arm.

Through the crack Aubrey had left in the door, she saw a pearly, opalescent glow and a sliver of an incorporeal face. Fuck, that’s right - Moira had been telling her to go to Sylvain, to maybe find some information on how to track the abominations. And… and Evelyn. Aubrey raised her eyebrows, smiled tensely at Moira, and nodded a couple of times, hoping that got the point across. Moira visibly sniffed and drifted away.

Okay. Mama said she might head to Sylvain tonight; Aubrey would invite herself along and hope for the best. She was about due for a visit to Janelle, anyway - and it couldn’t come at a better time.

“I might have to go to Sylvain tonight,” she said, into the near silence of Dani’s bedroom.

Dani hummed wordlessly into her shoulder. “Really?”

She sounded tired, like she was ready to take a nap right then and there. Soaks in the hot springs tended to do that to her. She was like a cat, the way she was drawn to warmth, and something about that made Aubrey feel soft and half-melted inside. She said softly, “You okay there?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“Wanna take a nap?”

“Yeah,” Dani whispered. Her breath skated across Aubrey’s water-chilled skin, and she shivered. Unconsciously, her arm tightened around Dani’s shoulder.

“Want me to stay here?”

“Not when you’re all cold and wet like that,” Dani said. She laughed softly, her breath making the hair on Aubrey’s arms stand up. “But yeah. That’d be… nice.”

“Okay,” Aubrey said. She gently kissed the top of Dani’s head and stood up, heading for her room. Dani yawned and pressed a hand to her mouth again.  “I’ll be back in a bit.” Somewhere in the main room, a door slammed shut; both of them flinched, but there didn’t seem to be any other commotion out there, so Aubrey didn’t bother to go check. Everything seemed like it was fine.

* * *

Everything was not fine.

Duck’s whole body flinched as he accidentally slammed the basement door; the sound echoed through the silent Lodge, and his heart pounded in his ears long after the sound faded. Oh, boy fucking howdy, this was a fucking nightmare. Having this dumped on him - with no warning whatsoever - made him feel like Ned’s Continental, all scrunched up and twisted inside, shards of panic stabbing through his chest like broken glass. Jesus fuck. This was _horrifying._

God, it was so hard to hate him now.

Duck covered his face, trying to ignore how his stomach was churning with every breath. In his mind’s eye, he saw Stern shivering, shaking in the cold, hunched over behind the dumpster as the shadows roiled around him. All pain and twisted limbs, fingers nearly pulling out his hair. The faint tang of fresh blood. Jesus Christ, he’d slammed him into the dumpster right on his open fucking wounds, hadn’t he? Duck groaned into his hands and leaned against the door to the basement, staring at the ceiling. This was just getting worse and worse.

But he knew he had to talk to the man. He had to. Stern could only say the word “Mothman.” There had to be a reason for that. Duck felt a surge of something in his chest, not anger, not disgust, something like - like sheer unbridled panic, and he was all too aware that Indrid was practically marooned at Leo’s store by himself. If Indrid was mixed up in what Stern was doing here - and that was a long fucking shot, he knew, Stern was supposed to be here to look into that fucking video Ned had posted - then he was in trouble.

They’d all be in trouble. Stern had a whole monster-hunting department behind him, and there was no doubt in Duck’s mind that they’d come looking for him if this whole mess didn’t get resolved. The place would be _swarmed_ with FBI agents. Hell, some of them might even get arrested and hauled off. Duck thought of what might happen if the feds took away Jake, or Dani, or one of the Sylphs that didn’t have a crystal, and he shuddered. Jesus, that would be a nightmare.

And this guy was his cousin. His fucking _cousin._ He only had the vaguest memories of Stern, as a knobby-kneed, freckled little snot-nosed kid, 4 years younger than him. He hadn’t seen him in literal decades - there was no way in hell that he was supposed to know who the guy was. They were practically two different people now. But -

But he was his cousin. They had a really short past together, which Duck remembered most of; he’d blocked out almost anything that happened before he was 22, but that could be a framework for him to figure out just what was going on with Stern’s head. How much the Ashminder had taken - if he was just a shell, or if he still had a mind and soul deep down despite everything. He could do this. He’d be going in blind, sure, and he wasn’t a fan of that, but he had a few ideas. He’d just have to bite the bullet and figure it out as he went.

Duck took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and slowly walked over to Stern’s hallway. The door to his room was still cracked open a bit, and some light illuminated the darkened hallway. Duck gently tapped on the door. “Hey, Stern?” he said. “It’s Duck. I’m gonna, uh, come in now, if that’s alright.”

He heard some disgruntled grumbling and shuffling papers, but no response. He took that as a yes and opened the door.

Stern was sitting stiffly at his desk, holding himself oddly to keep from straining his stitches too much. He turned and gave Duck a flat, thoroughly exhausted grimace, and Duck sighed. “Okay. Hey, man,” he said, waving listlessly. “Sorry ‘bout this.”

Stern just stared at him from his desk.

“I, uh… Weird question, but do you know sign language?” Oh, Duck knew sign language, alright - he’d learned some basic stuff in college, and it really came in handy sometimes - and it wasn’t too much of a long shot to assume Stern knew it too. Federal employees ran into all types.

Stern’s - no, Gary’s, Jesus fucking _Christ_ \- eyes narrowed. “Mothman,” he said. He lifted his hands and spelled out “Moth” in letters, and then spread his left hand, touching the thumb to his forehead and then to his chest. The sign for man. The whole time, there was a sharp, almost bitter glint in his eyes, like the signs were being dragged out of him against his will.

Well, fuck. So the guy could understand him just fine, but when he tried to speak or sign, things got garbled from point A to point B. Jane’s girlfriend would probably know the fancy name for it; one of her degrees was in cognitive psychology, and that background would definitely help her more. Man, Duck didn’t know shit about that. He’d gone to college for botany for his forest ranger certification. Anything more complicated than a tree wasn’t his thing.

Okay. Plan B it was.

Duck sighed and went over to the desk, leaning on the wall next to it. Stern’s eyes followed him. “Listen,” he said, “I get you’ve had a lot of people talkin’ to you lately, but this has been - this has been kind of… a rough weekend. I - you remember last night, right?”

Stern’s eyes narrowed, and Duck saw a suspicious glint in his eye. “Moth -” He caught himself, clenched his teeth, and looked away towards the window. His hand curled into a fist on top of his thigh.

Duck took a deep breath. “Hey, uh,” he said. Okay. Okay, okay, he had an idea now. And if this panned out, then this might actually be able to net him some answers. Stern obviously didn’t want to speak now; something had changed, from how talkative he was this morning. It was as if he couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice, and Duck understood that too well. “You can just… y’know, nod or somethin’. Shake your head. I - I’m just gonna ask yes or no questions, ‘cause it looks like you, uh. Still understand what I’m tryin’ to say, regardless. That sound good?”

Stern nodded once.

“Okay. Jesus. Do you… remember your name?”

Stern shook his head, still looking out the window.

“Do you remember your family? Their names?”

After a brief pause, Stern nodded once. A shadow passed over his face - something almost like regret, and Duck didn’t quite know what to make of it. But that was promising. It was good to know that deep down, the guy was still human.

“Okay.” Duck leaned over and gently knocked on the desk. Stern glanced at him, eyes flashing. “Let’s start there,” Duck said plainly. “Your mom’s name is Laura, your dad’s is Joe. You lived in Clarksburg, West Virginia for eight years before moving to D.C.”

“Mothman,” Stern breathed - as if he was saying, _“What?”_

“I’m your cousin, on your Aunt Ann’s side,” Duck said, looking him in the eyes. “Used to go by a different name. Starts with an F.” There was a flicker of recognition in Stern’s eyes. “Now, it’s Richard Steve. Stick with Duck and you’re good to go. If you ever get your voice back and call me any version of that other name, for any reason at all, I’ll drop what I’m doing and punch you right in the fucking teeth. No questions asked. We clear on that?”

Stern had gone completely pale. He nodded once and swallowed, staring at Duck like he’d seen a ghost.

“You believe me?” Duck said.

Stern shook his head.

“Thanksgiving, 1984. I stuck a green bean in your ear,” Duck said. “You pulled it out and stuck it on the serving plate again, and Grandpa ate it. My mom was fuckin’ pissed, but Grandpa thought it was the funniest fuckin’ thing he’d ever seen. Remember that?”

Stern grimaced and nodded, looking away - but it looked like he was trying not to smile.

“Yeah. I dunno how many more embarrassing childhood stories I’ve gotta pull out for you to believe me, but I… got quite a few saved up.” Even though Duck tried not to think about his childhood, the early days - the ones he could remember, anyway - were pretty fun, all things considered. The holidays were wild times in the Newton-Stern household.

All that aside - it looked like Stern was starting to come around to what Duck was saying. Pulling the family card seemed to work on him, which was incredibly promising; that meant the Ashminder hadn’t taken that from him, at the very least. That meant there was still something left in him.

There was only one way to find out. He grabbed a spare chair in the corner and dragged it over to the desk, sitting down in it backwards and propping his arms on its back. “...So,” he said. “You got messed up. No way to sugarcoat it, man, and I’m real sorry about that. But… jeez. Okay. From one cousin to another, I’m gonna be honest. You got yourself into some deep shit - we’re _all_ in deep shit - and I want to help you get out of it.”

Stern stared at a sheet of paper on the corner of his desk. He said nothing.

“So - do you know why you’re here?”

One of Stern’s hands clenched into a fist on his knee, and he nodded once.

“Okay. Let’s start there. Anything not clear about what you remember?”

_Yes._

“Were you looking for someone?”

 _Yes._ Two fingers held up.

“Two someones?”

_Yes._

“Were they real?”

A so-so motion.

“...Okay. Bear with me. Were you lookin’ for Bigfoot?”

 _Yes_. Great.

“Anyone else?”

_Yes._

“Who - Flatwoods Monster, vampires, seraphs, Mothman -?”

Stern nodded yes on the last one, and Duck tried not to pinch the bridge of his nose. Okay, fucking wonderful. Wonderful. Now that was something else entirely that he wasn’t one bit happy about. He’d have to ask someone to keep an eye on any of the feds that might show up to investigate the remains of Indrid’s trailer; he remembered Juno had told him Sheriff Zeke thought there’d been a meth lab in there or something, and if that got tied up in anything on the federal level, that’d be a fucking disaster. Related to him or not, it still made Duck’s skin crawl to think of Stern being anywhere near Indrid.

“...Okay. Yeah. Do you know who sent you here, looking for hi - uh, it?”

_No._

“Do you know why you were looking for Mothman?”

_No._

“Just that you wanted to find him?”

_Yes._

“...Okay. So you don’t remember your name, or your job, or why you’re here,” Duck said, half to himself, frowning at the floor. That meant the Ashminder had taken that - but why did he still remember their family? “Okay,” Duck said. “That - that clears some things up. Uh -” He sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to say next. Stern looked at him blankly. “I’m gonna… ask you about last night, if that’s alright,” Duck said.

Stern visibly tensed up.

“Yeah, I know,” Duck said. “Last night wasn’t so great, but. What I mean is -” He scratched the back of his neck, feeling like he was smashing his head into a brick wall. This was going better than he thought it would, and he really didn’t want to fuck this up with a bad question. Duck wanted to ask him about the Ashminder - if he remembered what attacked him last night - but that’d imply that there was a _thing_ that attacked him, and then Stern might realize there were other _things,_ and that’d just knock over a whole long line of dominoes...

Yeah. This wasn’t good.

How much did Stern already know? Did he know what had caught him last night? Did he already suspect that his hunch was correct, and there was more to Amnesty Lodge and its residents that met the eye? Duck didn’t know how to phrase this question without spilling every fucking thing about the Lodge. “I… do you know, um. Fuck.” Duck sighed sharply and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I dunno how to ask this.”

Just as Duck was about to go out of his damn gourd trying to come up with a question, he heard a voice, and his blood ran cold.

“My esteemed master here,” Beacon drawled, from where he was clipped to Duck’s belt, “is attempting to ask if you are… _aware_ of this establishment’s magical proclivities.”

They both stared at Beacon. After a long and uncomfortable silence, Stern looked up and raised one eyebrow.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Duck muttered, and buried his face in his arms.

“I am merely making an assumption, Duck Newton,” Beacon said, the words sliding off his metaphysical tongue like oil, and God, Duck felt disgusted just listening to him talk. Stern scooted his chair a tiny bit away.

“Appropriate response,” Duck said. “Yeah. Shit…” Stern’s other eyebrow went up. “Yeah.  That’s - that’s Beacon. He’s a talking sword. Surprise, weird shit happens around here,” Duck said flatly. “Don’t let that get to you too much. Yeah.”

“Tell him the truth, Duck Newton -”

 _“Please_ shut up,” Duck groaned. The sword uncoiled slightly, the plates making up his body clicking against each other. Stern’s eyebrows looked like they were going to fly right off his face.

“Okay. Mama’s gonna be real fucking pissed at me,” Duck said, “but here’s the low-down. Magic’s real, we’re hunting monsters, you got nailed by one of the nastiest fuckin’ ones we’ve ever had to face, bada bing, bada boom, here we are. And we’re trying to kill it before it gets anyone else. So any, uh… help would be appreciated.”

Stern just stared at him. He looked even paler now, like a rug had been yanked out from under him and he’d only just regained his balance, but was still ready to fall over any minute. Duck could practically hear the gears grinding in his head, and that scared him, because even after months - and years, technically - of knowing this man, he still didn’t know what he was capable of.

“Do you trust me on this?” Duck said quietly. “Gary. Do you trust me?”

Stern swallowed and nodded.

“See, that wasn’t quite so hard,” Beacon said.

“Shut up,” Duck said, not breaking eye contact with Stern. The corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “Now that you know what’s up, I got a couple other questions, ‘fore we get into what happened last night. Uh - do you know _why_ you were out lookin’ for Mothman?”

There was a moment of silence - true, deep silence, where Stern didn’t seem like was able to breathe. Then he slowly nodded and looked around the room, holding up one finger. _One moment._ Okay, fair. Duck frowned and watched Stern go through the papers on his desk, lifting each one to look underneath, and then rifle through all of the desk drawers.

“Are you looking for something?” he asked, and immediately felt like an idiot. Stern nodded, patting down his chest and rifling through his pockets. He had shrugged on his tattered coat over his new clothes; his shirt and suit had been unsalvageable, blood-soaked and torn to shreds by the Ashminder’s talons. “Your wallet, or -”

Stern waved a hand and nodded furiously, peering into the inside pockets of his coat with a vaguely panicked look on his face. Then he pulled something out and set it on the desk, continuing to go through his pockets.

It was a pair of gold-rimmed, opaque red sunglasses.

Duck shot to his feet, remembered too late that he was sitting backwards and straddling the chair, and quickly sat down again. “What the fuck?” he said, pointing at the glasses.

Stern froze.

“Stern,” Duck said. He huffed and dragged a hand over his face, trying not to yell again. Those were a dead ringer for Indrid’s glasses. Indrid’s fucking glasses. Jesus Christ sleeping in a fuckin’ manger, where did he get them? “Where in God’s green Earth did you get those?”

Slowly, Stern lifted his hand and pointed at Duck. Then at himself. Then at the glasses. And, just when Duck was about to smash his head into a wall from the sheer frustration of not being able to understand, Stern seemed to have a moment of clarity. He made an “r” in sign language with his hand - with effort, Duck noticed - and then pointed at his knee.

“I - I don’t know what that means, I’m sorry -” Duck stared at the glasses, and couldn’t bring himself to look away. They looked almost exactly like Indrid’s, large gold frames with round lenses in them - though the lenses were scratched and the metal bit between the eyes was bent, and they weren’t quite the same thickness or color. But God, they looked so familiar, and something about looking at them made panic surge up in his chest again - seeing them anywhere but on Indrid’s face made Duck’s skin crawl.

Stern scowled and pulled his hand out of his pockets, glaring at the desk again, and took a deep breath. “Mothman,” he sighed, as if he was cursing at something, and picked up the glasses.

“Wait, hold on -”

Stern slid them on, and the man instantly grew about a foot in height and turned into Indrid Cold. Duck let out a surprised shout and fell out of his chair.

But it wasn’t Indrid, not quite. This was a… younger Indrid, still lanky and gaunt, and wearing an ungodly amount of threadbare sweaters under a green parka. The coat looked like something salvaged from a thrift store; Duck had seen those green military parkas in old thrift store, but the ones that looked like this were usually threadbare and worn. This looked almost new. His hair was long and tangled and almost completely black, but with greying roots - the exact opposite of Indrid’s current disguise.

“That is so fucking weird,” Duck breathed.

“Mothman,” Stern said.

And that was Stern’s voice coming out of Indrid’s face, too, Jesus fucking _Christ -_ “That’s fuckin’ weird too, take those things off -”

There was a gentle _thump_ somewhere behind Duck, and he turned around. Stern’s bedroom door had swung open and bounced gently off the wall, and standing in the door was Jake Cool-Ice himself. Duck made a panicked face at Jake and waved a hand around, hoping Jake would take the hint and not fucking say anything -

“Indrid?” Jake said incredulously. Duck looked around for the nearest object he could slam into his own forehead, and settled for resting his forehead on the chair in front of him.

On the chair, Stern-with-Indrid’s-face looked incredibly smug. He reached up and pulled the glasses off, and instantly he turned back into himself. “Mothman,” he said plainly, looking right at Jake.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jake said faintly. He looked like he’d been hit in the face with a book; Duck could relate. “Oh, holy fucking shit, that’s… bad, that’s bad, that’s really bad -”

“No kidding,” Duck said, over Stern’s faint “Mothman?”

Jake took a deep breath and pressed both hands to each side of his head, as if trying to keep it from exploding. “I can’t believe he was being honest,” he breathed.

“Wait, what -”

Jake grimaced. “Indrid used to, uh… tell us stories and stuff,” he said. “Like, all his trips around the country, the shit he got up to - and one time, he told us about his one time he lost his glasses, at the fuckin’ _Kennedy assassination -_ ”

“Mothman mothman,” Stern said, his words overlapping with Jake’s, and Duck felt another wave of terrified nausea sweep over him. He struggled to his feet and sat on the chair again, normal this time. The pieces fell into place, but felt more like a truck falling off a cliff. God, he should have know. He couldn’t believe he’d missed this - couldn’t believe that Uncle Arnie had been serious all those years, that his story was a hundred percent true. He should have realized it sooner, to be completely honest. He should have known, the moment Indrid opened the door to his Winnebago, that his uncle had been right this whole time. Maybe this would have saved him a whole bunch of trouble.

Stern looked at him, and made the sign for “r” and pointed to his knee again. R. Knee. Arnie. “Yeah, I got it,” Duck said sourly, and put his head in his hands. “Okay. Okay. This is great.”

“You… okay there, Duck?” Jake said hesitantly.

“No. Yeah. Ugh, I just… need a minute,” Duck said, slowly standing up. “I’m gonna, uh… head back to my place. If y’all need any help with anything, just gimme a call. Thanks for the, uh, chat, Gary.” Stern nodded vaguely, staring at the glasses in his hand.

“Okay, Duck, sounds good,” Jake said. He caught Duck’s elbow just as he was about to head out. “You think Stern’d be okay if I asked him a few questions?” he said quietly.

“...Mothman,” Stern muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, join the club, it’s one hell of a revolving door we have in here,” Duck said. “I guess? Hang on.” He grabbed Jake’s elbow and dragged him back outside, pulling the door closed. “If you’re plannin’ on asking about -”

“Oh, no, I heard everything,” Jake said, beaming. Duck sighed. “I heard everything you asked him. You might wanna, uh… talk to Mama one of these days, ‘n tell her what you found out.”

“Yeah, okay, I probably will.”

“So -” A shadow crossed Jake’s face; he pursed his lips and looked at the ground. “I got a hunch about something,” he said quietly. “I - Barclay mentioned some things yesterday, while I was helping get ‘im patched up, and I wanna follow through on that.”

“About what?”

“Like - Indrid’s trailer, and stuff. Shit he noticed. I just… have a couple of theories, I’m hopin’ he can give me some answers. You wanna listen in, or -?”

Duck nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. I mean - shit,” he said, catching a glimpse of the clock on the wall. It was almost one. His chat with Jane had run for way longer than he thought it would. “I gotta go stop by Leo’s and pick up Indrid, okay? Just - go on in, I’ll talk to you later. Stern can understand you perfectly, just stick to yes or no questions.”

“Al - uh, alright, Duck -” Jake pulled the door open, but stopped himself just before he went through the door. “Hey, uh,” he said. “Just curious. Is - is Gary really his name?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Nothing.” Jake quickly closed the door. Duck prayed to whatever gods that were listening that Jake didn’t start teasing the poor man about his name, grabbed his hat, and headed for his truck to pick Indrid up.

* * *

“You’re not funny.”

“Yes, I am!”

“No, you’re not, this is the worst joke you’ve ever made -”

“It’s not even a joke,” Barclay said, spreading his arms and almost knocking over a lamp. With his other hand, he waved a VHS copy of _Catch Me If You Can,_ that late-90’s true-story con movie with Leo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks in it. God, this was just hideously ironic. Ned knew he had ol’ Leo beat in the looks department, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see this as a low blow. “It was right in the front! You - you had this with your movies, you - you -” He sputtered for a bit, scratching the back of his head with the movie case.

“Barks, if the words don’t go,” Ned said, staring at the ceiling, “they… don’t. Don’t bother.”

“You had this with your movies, Ned, you had this coming,” Barclay said. He knelt and fiddled with the VHS player.

“You’re putting it in backwards,” Ned said to the ceiling. “It worked fine with _West Side Story,_ that was -”

“No, I’m not, I - oh, for Pete’s sake, you’re sitting on the remote.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You are _sitting_ on the _remote,_ ” Barclay said. “It keeps turning off every time I try to put it in.” He hunched over the VHS player, mashed the power button, and put in the tape; it clicked on and started to whir. “There. Good grief, Ned, you’re ridiculous.”

“That’s me,” Ned said. He yawned and slowly sat up; something hard and plastic dug into his thigh, and he winced, pulling the VHS remote from under his leg. Barclay gave him an unimpressed look. “Ned ‘Ridiculous’ Chicane.”

“That doesn’t really have a ring to it, sorry to say.”

“You’re right. I can do better.”

“No, you can’t.”

“ ‘Course not, that’s why I’m stuck with you,” Ned said, lifting his half-full glass in a mock toast. Barclay scowled and threw the empty VHS case at him.

The projector on the coffee table whirred and clicked, projecting the movie onto a sheet draped over some shelves on the far wall. It was a really shitty setup, but it worked well enough for them. As Barclay went back over to the couch and sat down, Ned took a sip of his root beer float and set it down on the card table.

If the last movie they’d watched was any indication, they weren’t even going to pay attention to them. Sure, Barclay’d hummed along to all of _West Side Story_ and dropped some hints about meeting Leonard Bernstein - Ned didn’t know enough about either Bigfoot or Bernstein to dispute that - but they’d spent half the movie just… talking. Letting the movie play still felt like sitting in silence, and they were both too aware of the memorial on the other side of the door.

This felt right. Swapping stories. Trying to one-up each other with crazy tales. Ned thought he’d had Barclay beat when he told him about the time he stole George Clooney’s Oscar, but man - Barclay had some stories of his own.

It felt like the days between heists, Ned realized, when he and Boyd would hop in the Crown Imperial and just… drive. Not caring where they went or what they saw, just making sure the cops were far away and the road was empty and free. They’d talk about anything and nothing at all.  Ned felt a ghost of those days slip past him and fall far behind, like a passing road sign. Somehow this dusty back room, behind the locked door and among the shelves piled high with stolen trophies, felt warm and full of life.

He swirled the glass in his hands, peering down into the whirlpool of soda and melted ice cream. “You were gonna tell me about, uh…” He snapped his fingers a couple of times, trying to remember.

“Breckenridge,” Barclay said. “Colorado.”

“Yeah, that,” Ned said. On the screen, the soft marimba notes of _Catch Me If You Can’s_ opening credits crackled through the stereo system. They both jumped slightly as there was a loud _“Shh!”_ from the soundtrack. Barclay turned the volume down. “It was - what, 1947?”

“Something like that - wait, no, switch ‘em, it was ‘74,” Barclay said. “People were wearin’ bell bottoms, it was _definitely_ ‘74.”

“What the hell were you doing all the way out in Colorado?”

“I was comin’ back from Glenwood Springs,” Barclay said. “They had a pretty big Sylph community up there by the hot springs, before the place got a bit too crowded and they moved stuff up north. They're at Hot Sulphur Springs, near Rocky Mountain National Park, these days. I was out there on behalf of Mama, tryin’ to get them to come out to Kepler, but they weren’t having it. I decided to… well, call it quits and come home.”

“Huh.”

“Think they’re still doin’ fine out there - Sparrow, the, uh, Flatwoods Monster, they moved out there and they run a place like Amnesty Lodge up there. They seem to be doin’ fine. But… well,” Barclay said. He sighed and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. He swallowed. Ned looked very carefully at the safe in the wall, the George Clooney Oscar in its display case, the flickering animated opening credits of the movie - anything but Barclay. “I fucked up.”

“That seems to be an overarching theme of this conversation,” Ned said.

“You and me both. I was, uh, pretending to be some bougie A-Basin snob, because that was the mountain crowd back in those days. Still is, if Sparrow’s postcards are tellin’ the truth. The journey home was goin’ well for a while, until I ran into a couple of _real_ bougie snobs at a McDonalds, yellin’ at some of the workers over some pickles on a burger, and… well, that didn’t go so well.”

“For them, or for you?”

“Yes. Both.”

“Huh.

Barclay heaved a great sigh. “I yelled at them, they yelled at me, one guy tried to smash my head into the soda machine, I stepped out of the way, he tripped and chipped his tooth on the countertop, his goons tried to beat me up,” he recited, still looking at the ceiling. “I’m - not a fan of raising hell, you know me, but they got me right in the face with an apple pie, and that fuckin’ hurt -”

_“When the goon hits your eye with a big apple pie -”_

Barclay lauched, lifting his head off the back of the couch. “That was awful,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

“Hey, I saw the chance, I took it,” Ned said defensively. “Sue me.” That was… real dignified of you, Barclay, brawling with some rich fucks in a McDonalds.”

“Oh -” Barclay huffed and turned to face Ned, pulling his legs up onto the couch. It was a small couch, not an easy task, but he managed. “You ain’t heard nothing yet, Ned, did I tell you about the Shrimp Incident of ‘67?”

“The what?” Ned shook his head. “No, I - you brought it up a couple times, but you never really…”

“Went into detail, yeah,” Barclay said. He nodded slowly and leaned towards Ned, propping one elbow on his knee. “Yeah, that’s a hell of a story.”

“What happened?”

“Well - I was heading for the Lodge. It was the late 60’s, so it wasn’t really much, but Mama’d just dug up the place, and she and Victoria were fixin’ the place up. Yeah, she’s that old,” he said, before Ned could open his mouth. “It’s got somethin’ to do with being so close to the gate all the time - she picked up on the gate’s magic a bit. She’s been here in Kepler for a hell of a long time.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah - so, Indrid and I were heading for Kepler,” Barclay went on. “This was right after Point Pleasant, and I’d been… well, I don’t remember what I was doing, but I know Indrid was headed for Chicago, and we ran into each other in Huntington. I talked him into coming back east with me. That whole part of the state was swarming with FBI agents. We almost got pulled over by the feds twice, if you believe it - once because everyone was still riled up over Point Pleasant, and another time because they thought we had weed in Indrid’s Winnebago.”

“And did you?” Ned said, grinning.

“No, Jesus.” Barclay shifted a bit and added, “Indrid doesn’t… he’s got a bad history with government agents. I mean - we all do, but ‘specially him. Did you know he was at the Kennedy assassination?”

Ned choked. “You fucking kidding?” he said incredulously. “Hell, _I_ was at the Kennedy assassination! I was - what, like, seven or eight years old at the time, but I was there. You telling me Indrid was somewhere in that crowd?”

“He sure was,” Barclay said, surprised. “Man, Ned, I didn’t - you’re from Texas?”

“That… general area, yeah. Small world, I guess.”

“I’ll say. But - okay, here’s where it gets crazy,” Barclay said, waving a finger in the air. He grinned at Ned, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “We were driving up 219 when out of nowhere, we see a motorcyclist blasting past at full speed, with a massive truck right behind her, goin’ so fast that they were this close to blasting her off the road.”

“Holy shit -”

“And Indrid, the madman, goes, ‘That’s not good’ - understatement of the fucking year - and, well, I was driving that leg, so -”

“Barclay, you didn’t -”

“I… rammed the camper into the side of the truck,” Barclay sighed, putting his head in his hands. Ned snorted so hard he started coughing. “Yeah, I know, it sounds bad, but the guy in the truck was right about to run this motorcyclist off the road - she could’ve died. I kind of… went for it. ‘Course, I’d never do that now, I’m a hell of a lot more cautious. Things have changed. Wasn’t the same person then that I am now.”

Barclay sighed quietly and slowly scratched his chin, his eyes unfocused. Ned could see him getting dragged down into memories; the light from the projector flickered, and for a split second all Ned could see was Barclay’s face, soot-smudged, haunted and wild, in the snow of Eastwood Campgrounds. He was coming untethered. Ned wanted nothing more than to grab the rope and reel him back in.

He pushed his glass forward and bumped Barclay’s arm with it. Its cold chill made Barclay flinch and look back up at him, eyes troubled. “Guess that’s for the better, then,” Ned said softly. His fingers had long since gone numb from the ice-cold glass. “If I say so myself, you’re a pretty swell guy. I’m glad you’re my friend now, but frankly, I bet we would’ve gotten along back in the day too.”

Barclay laughed softly and made a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, maybe so,” he said, smiling. “You would’ve been - what, twelve years old?” Ned grumbled something incoherent, scowled, and took a long drink from his glass. Barclay laughed again. “You’d make real good company, that’s for sure.”

“Stop being sarcastic, dear, you’re hurting my feelings,” Ned muttered into his glass, tipping his head back to drain the drains of the root beer float. When he swallowed and brought the glass down, he caught Barclay staring at him, and raised an eyebrow. “What - do I have something on my face?” he said.

Barclay seemed to shake himself and glanced away, shifting again on the couch. “Nah - it’s nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Uh - where was I?”

“You rammed the truck.”

“Oh, right… holy fuckin’ shit,” Barclay sighed. “That wasn’t the best choice. ‘Cause the truck rolled and broke, spilling shrimp all over the damn highway, and the guy who was drivin’ jumped out. We thought he was gonna run off, and we tried to stop him, but…”

Barclay trailed off and laughed. “Man. He wanted to _fight.”_

“Jesus.”

“Jebediah Leeds was his name, back then,” Barclay said, propping his chin on his hand and looking at Ned. “The Jersey Devil.”

“The _what?”_

“Jersey Devil,” Barclay said plainly. “Right nasty bastard. Changed his name every other week, was a hell of a lot to keep up with. He didn’t like bein’ called Jeb or Leeds or any variation at _all,_ so we just… tried to keep up with the name of the day. Last I saw him, when - when he got attacked, and just kind of vanished, he was goin’ by Peter.”

Barclay scratched the back of his neck and added, “Once he mellowed out, I, uh… went out with him a couple times.” Ned’s eyebrows flew up. “But it never really got anywhere, and we decided to call it quits and stay friends.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, it was for the best. He wasn’t the type to settle down, no - he was always on the move.”

“What, not like you?”

“Not like me,” Barclay said firmly. “These days, I’m - I’m happy right here where I am.” He cleared his throat. “‘Course, at the time, Indrid and I didn’t know the guy was the Jersey Devil when we tried to keep him from running off, but we found out the hard way. He put up a fight, ripped off his disguise bracelet, and tried to maul us, so… we had to do the same thing.”

Ned’s eyebrows flew up. That was a glorious mental image. The Jersey Devil, Bigfoot, and Mothman, kicking the shit out of each other in the middle of a pile of shrimp on the side of Route 219. Oh, man, he would pay money to see that. “Are you kidding me?” he laughed.

“Yeah, no, that happened, I’m serious,” Barclay said. He grinned. “We were all just… brawling, trying to get the guy to stay down, when that motorcycle came drivin’ back around. And - it was Mama. The woman drivin’ that thing was Mama. And she was real ticked off that we’d been, y’know, havin’ a full cage match out of disguise on the side of a highway where everyone drivin’ past could see us. So we all hopped back in Indrid’s camper and headed off to the Lodge and… guess that was that.”

“You know,” Ned said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “I always wondered why Indrid’s camper was all crumpled in the front…”

“Well, now you know.”

“Now I know. Man - that’s crazy! It was a miracle you all weren’t seen.”

“Yeah, if that’d happened in this decade, it’d be all over the internet,” Barclay said. He slowly turned his head towards Ned, and gave him an incredibly disapproving look that would work way, way better if he had glasses to look over. “Right, Ned?”

“Right,” Ned sighed. He set his glass down on the coffee table and rubbed his temples. “Man, you know I’m really fuckin’ sorry about that? You don’t have to keep rubbing it in.”

The disapproving look on Barclay’s face faded, then, into something soft and… almost forgiving. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he said quietly, “I know. I was just messin’ with you.”

“Yeah, fair,” Ned muttered. He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, trying not to meet Barclay’s eyes, because he knew that one look at the man’s kind face would make him fucking melt inside. Jesus. He was a fucking mess, wasn’t he.

“Think it’s your turn for a story, Ned,” Barclay said, his voice just above a whisper.

Ned stared at the projector for a bit, at the dust motes drifting in the beam of light. On screen, DiCaprio’s character was posing as a substitute teacher in his French class. He couldn’t remember why. “Hmm… y’know what,” he said. “I think I got one.”

Ned swallowed and wiped his nose, looking at their makeshift screen. “Well -” Before he could stop himself, he shifted around a bit and slowly rested his head on Barclay’s shoulder. Barclay’s shoulder went stiff from surprise. “Let’s see, where to start - I told you ‘bout Boyd, right?”

“Yeah, ex-partner in crime?”

“Ex-everything, if you wanna get technical.” Barclay made a faintly surprised noise, and shifted a bit closer. “Well, we were down in Atlanta, Georgia. And he had this fiddle…”

* * *

The day faded into an early, featureless night. Aubrey woke sometime before seven; Dani’s bedroom was washed with a dim, dusky blue, the edges of the world faint and dissolved. Dani was wrapped around her; Aubrey could feel their legs pressed together under the blankets, her head tucked under Dani’s chin, and sighed quietly. Something hot and heavy swelled in her throat. This was the most well-rested she’d felt after waking up in a long, long time, and something deep down told her that she’d needed it.

Dani signed quietly and tightened her arm around Aubrey. Aubrey’s eyes suddenly stung, and she buried her face in Dani’s shoulder. The blankets were soft and heavy; they were safe and warm together; and for a moment that felt suspended, breathless, for an eternity, she could believe that everything was going to be okay.

When Mama knocked on the door and told her it was time to head to Sylvain, for the first time she could remember, Aubrey didn't want to go.

The night sky was pitch black outside; it had been snowing on and off all day, and the clouds still hung low over Kepler. The bottoms of the clouds were tinged a strange red near the horizon. Aubrey stood on the porch after putting on her coat and sunglasses, watching the faint ghost of light over Kepler. Behind her, she heard Mama talking softly with Jake and Dani, giving them the usual Mama’s-in-Sylvain, make-sure-the-place-doesn’t-burn-down talk. Normally, Barclay would hold down the fort if he wasn’t coming along, but he was nowhere to be found. He’d been gone for over eight hours at this point; they all knew he was hanging out with Ned, but that didn’t make anyone worry less.

“Aubrey.”

Dani’s voice was soft, but it still startled her. “Oh, jeez, sorry,” Dani said putting a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. Aubrey felt herself lean into the touch. “Hey. Stay safe out there, okay?”

“I will,” Aubrey said. She reached up and squeezed Dani’s hand. Dani smiled softly at her, but her smile seemed a bit faded. “Is - what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Dani started to nod, but stopped herself. “I… have a favor to ask,” she said, looking over her shoulder. She squeezed Aubrey’s hand tighter.

“Oh - yeah, sure, what is it?”

Dani took a deep breath and sighed, staring out at the dark forest beyond the Lodge’s courtyard. “When you… get to Sylvain,” she whispered. “If you get a chance to… I don’t know. Ask Janelle or someone, but if you can - can you ask about my brother and my dad?”

Aubrey was speechless for several seconds.

“If you can,” Dani said. Her grip on Aubrey’s hand was like iron. “I - if you can’t find a way, that’s totally fine, but… I just -”

“You want to know if they’re okay?” Aubrey said quietly. Dani stared at her, eyes wide, and nodded once - a small motion, barely noticeable in the dark. “I - oh, of course, Dani, I’ll - I’ll ask around and do what I can. I understand.”

Dani swallowed hard and folded Aubrey into a quick hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“No problem.”

Behind her, she heard solid footsteps on the Lodge’s wooden floor, as well as metal gently tapping the floor. “I know I’m not the boss of you,” Mama was saying to someone, “but you’re not comin’.”

“I’d rather I did, if it’s all the same,” Vanessa said quietly. Aubrey looked over Dani’s shoulder into the Lodge, and saw Mama and Vanessa standing on opposite sides of one of the sofas. Vanessa was holding her staff and a lantern, dressed in that battered leather jacket and wearing a plaid scarf she was about 90 percent sure belonged to Barclay. “I know people in Sylvain.”

“Things’ve changed,” Mama said flatly.

“That place was my home for millennia - I _grew up_ with -”

“You haven’t been back there for - hell, almost a hundred fifty years, Ness, you -” Mama seemed to realize, too late, that she’d called Vanessa by a nickname, and that seemed to make her frustrated. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed sharply, glaring at the floor. “I - I get that you want to help, Vanessa, but we’re working on a time crunch here. Next abomination’s due in a month; we gotta put this one to bed as soon as possible, ‘fore things get real bad. I don’t have time to give you the full debrief on what we’re facing -”

“I was there the first time,” Vanessa said. She looked back at Mama stoically, not budging an inch. This was a battle of wills between giants; Aubrey felt like backing away and heading to the gate on her own, just to save herself from whatever might happen next. “Just because I didn’t… do much the first time, doesn’t mean I’m not willing to help out now.”

Mama was silent for a long while. At last, she said quietly, “I know. I - I know.”

“Trust me,” Vanessa said, with surprising gentleness in her voice. “Just this once.”

“You got any… special reasons for wantin’ to do this?”

Vanessa did not answer. “Let this be the trial run here, Mama, and if I do anything - anything at all - that violates your trust, you tell me, and I’ll leave,” she said instead. “I just want to help.”

Mama hummed and lifted her chin, giving Vanessa a thoughtful look. “You know the risks.”

“Better than anyone,” Vanessa said.

“You’re willing to take responsibility for whatever you do?”

“Always am.”

“You’ve changed, then.”

“Maybe I have,” Vanessa said, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “But I don’t hear you complaining.” Mama sighed and turned towards the door, grabbing her hat. Aubrey squeezed Dani’s hand one last time and let go, following Vanessa and Mama out into the night.

The further they wove into the forest behind Amnesty Lodge, the deeper and darker the shadows became. Aubrey heard wind howling through the branches high above and hunched her shoulders, pulling the hood of her snow parka over her head. Snowflakes blew past her and skated shrilly across the top of her hood. Behind her, she heard Vanessa’s boots crunching through the fresh-fallen snow; in the near pitch-blackness of the forest behind Mama’s lamp, her staff seemed to cast a faint blue-green glow on the trees. Aubrey turned once and saw Vanessa holding her staff aloft, looking into the trees on either side. A faint blue light seeped through the cracks in the wood that made up her staff.

The path leading to the gate was blanketed in soft, undisturbed snow. Somehow, the featureless shadow was unnerving to Aubrey, as if something was about to burst from underneath it and attack them. The gate itself stood in the middle of its clearing, piled high with snow, looking like a massive corpse draped in sheets. She slowly pulled her hands out of her pockets and flexed her fingers, feeling hints of power stirring.

“Moon’s hidden,” Vanessa said. “We might have to wait for the light to shine on it.”

“Got that covered,” said Mama, reaching into her pocket and grabbing a mirror. Aubrey looked up into the dark, featureless sky, feeling as if she was looking into the depths of a gaping mouth. A tinge of red crept across the clouds, and after a while they drifted apart. She bit back a gasp. The full moon above was tinged blood red, as if viewed through red glass.

“Huh,” Mama said. “That’s… odd.”

“Blood moon,” Vanessa said quietly. Her voice was low, barely disturbing the forest’s silence. “That’s a total lunar eclipse - we’re catching the tail end of it tonight. It’s been all over the news.”

A sliver of dim moonlight flickered on the gate, and it filled with golden light. Aubrey readjusted her sunglasses and followed Mama through the gate. Vanessa followed close behind. The energy of the gate whispered along Aubrey’s skin, magic and power skimming over her like she was walking through a cobweb - and then they were through, Sylvain spread out before them beyond the towering columns of the gate’s pavilion. It was early morning here, and the sky was blanketed with clouds. Aubrey carefully adjusted her sunglasses.

Mama took a deep breath and strode across the pavilion. “Alright,” she said quietly, nodding at one of the guards they passed. “We got a plan?”

“I do,” Aubrey said firmly. “I’m gonna go talk to Janelle, if I can.”

“Good plan; she’s a good resource,” Vanessa said, scanning the sprawling city before them. She tapped Mama on the shoulder. “I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t exactly have any other choice,” Mama said wearily. She lifted a hand to pat Vanessa on the shoulder, but paused, clenching it into a fist and bringing it back down. Aubrey thought it looked like she was trying to be… businesslike, almost. Holding herself back. But she’d seen Mama be professional before, with tourists and law enforcement and other folks that came through the Lodge. This wasn’t that.

“Of course I don’t have a choice,” Vanessa said, in a low voice. She glanced over her shoulder and leaned towards Mama. “...I don’t have my crystal.”

Mama’s entire body went stiff. “You _what?”_ she hissed. Oh, yikes.

“I don’t have my crystal.”

“I - Vanessa, do you have any idea how much danger you’re puttin’ us in?” Mama said, in a low, dangerous voice. “You’re not supposed to -”

“I’m not an exile, I’m on file as having left voluntarily,” Vanessa whispered. Aubrey’s eyes flickered between the two of them; she felt like she was watching a tennis match. “It shouldn’t be a big deal. Just don’t call any attention to me, and we will be fine.” Mama sighed and slowly lifted both hands to rub her temples.

“Uh,” said Aubrey.

“You gonna be able to find your way up to Janelle’s yourself?” Mama said to Aubrey, not looking at her.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Aubrey unzipped her jacket slightly and adjusted her sunglasses again. “See you… later, I guess.”

Behind them, a shadow passed over the pavilion and followed close behind; a thin, high-pitched wail drifted through the air, almost inaudible in the sharp breeze. A guard looked up in alarm and lifted their weapon. A hazy chill filled the air, and the world grew fuzzy around the edges, as the spires of Sylvain’s castle stabbed the ash grey sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are rude to retail/food service employees, bigfoot WILL physically manifest in front of you and he WILL make you regret all your life choices
> 
> yee fucking haw, this was a late ass update. this chapter was fun to write, though (even though my ability to come up with clever chapter titles is slowly decaying). i can literally see the end of this story on the horizon, and i'm so pumped to get to its last stages. fun fact: yesterday, January 19th, 2019, was the day that this story started in fiction! yesterday, in Kepler, West Virginia, the pine guard trio rescued a cold Indrid from his camper in the eastwood campgrounds. boy howdy, time flies. when i started writing this story in november, january seemed so far away, but here we are. wack
> 
> side note: the reason why this chapter took so damn long was because i was possessed by the ghost of beethoven or something, i don't even fucking know, and i [went off the shits and did an orchestral arrangement of arms outstretched.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/post/182179089351/this-is-why-tmwciftc-chapter-12-took-2-weeks-to) like - trumpets and strings and percussion and sfx and all that wonderful shit. i'm gonna see if i can upload it to youtube and then find the strength to put it on twitter and tag griffin in it. i'm fucking terrified. but i've heard from multiple people that it fucking slaps, so if you wanna give it a listen feel free!
> 
> as always, thank you all so so much for reading and sticking around! i go back to college on tuesday, so chapter updates might fluctuate, but hopefully not as wildly as the last few had. who knows - i might end up writing more chapters while procrastinating on homework. it's wild out here. feel free to comment, or swing by [my tumblr](https://www.taako-waititi.tumblr.com) and drop me an ask! thanks so much for reading!


	13. The Children of Sylvain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a gentle reminder: this is an AU. i take glorious liberties with canon. this chapter was planned - hell, this whole _fic_ was planned - before lunar interlude 4. there are so many loose ends to be tied up in canon, and i'm just doing my best to make some kind of hellish macrame with them all.

Sylvain was as it always was: teeming with strange and wondrous life, its streets a seething patchwork of hoofs and horns and teeth and sharp, gleaming eyes. The beauty of it always sent odd chills down Aubrey’s spine. Every time she came here, she saw something different, something new - and most days, it made her feel at home. A strange, giddy kind of belonging.

Today, that feeling was nowhere in sight. Aubrey pulled the hood of her snow parka over her head, made sure her glasses were firmly on her face, and trudged down the main street in the middle of Sylvain.

These days, in Sylvain, the world seemed drained, like it was perpetually stuck in mid-November. The leaves had long since withered and fallen to the cobblestones. The ash-grey sky hung low overhead, like a burial shroud, and though there were many Sylvans out and about, they were silent and grim. Aubrey didn’t stand out much in the crowd, per se - everyone was bundled up, in the face of what felt like an oncoming blizzard.

Distant wind howled over the mountains. Aubrey ducked her head against a cold blast and crossed the river in front of the great castle. The shattered crystal loomed overhead like a frozen sunset.

Inside, her footsteps clicked on the marble floors of the castle’s foyer. It was a bit warmer in here; fire flickered in those... holder-things on the walls, and the floors seemed to radiate some kind of magical heat. Aubrey cautiously unzipped her snow parka and cringed as the zipper’s sound echoed in the entrance hall.

A pelican-headed guard near the door gave her a weird look. “Sorry,” she whispered, and hurried to the back of the hall.

Janelle’s office-slash-quarters were sequestered away in a good old-fashioned wizard’s tower, on one of the furthest corners of the massive castle that housed Sylvain’s government officials. Aubrey had never had the chance to explore the castle - she suspected that straight up wasn’t allowed - but it seemed like a pretty cool place. Had a lot of elevators. Strange, for a world like this to have elevators, but if it was a system that worked, who was she to judge?

Aubrey hooked a right and headed for an elevator, hidden away in an alcove next to some potted plants. The minute the doors opened and Aubrey stepped out onto Janelle’s floor, she ran right into someone. Something sharp dug into her chest. Books and papers went flying everywhere. “Jesus!” Aubrey yelped, staggering backwards.

The person she’d run into immediately dropped to his knees, scrambling to pick up all his books. He was a blur of panicked motion. “Sorry, sorry,” he said hastily. He sounded young, maybe around Aubrey’s age or even younger. Aubrey scooped up a couple handfuls of papers and waited for him to stand up, watching him curiously. He carefully stacked up his books, started to pick them up, then thought better and wiggled his fingers, casting some kind of charm on them. They slowly hovered and bobbed gently in the air.

Aubrey cautiously reached out and put the papers on top of his stack. “Sorry,” she said awkwardly.

The guy picked up one last paper she’d missed and straightened up. Aubrey blinked. She was looking at a kid she’d never seen before, a serious boy maybe around Calvin Owens’ age or even younger. No, definitely younger - he looked like he could be a high school freshman. He had floppy brown hair that fell to about his chin, pointed ears, and the shimmering yellow-orange eyes that every single other Sylph in the city had. His face was nearly covered by a pair of thick-lensed glasses with giant black frames. He was fucking adorable.

“Sorry for running into you,” the kid said sheepishly.

Aubrey blinked and drew herself back to reality. “Oh - uh, it’s… no problem, don’t worry,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He scratched the back of his neck and looked at his stack of floating books. Who was this kid? “Uh -”

“You’re that girl from Earth, right?” the kid said, staring at her. He looked young, but serious. As if he was trying desperately to prove himself to someone, to anyone, and never got around to turning that off.

“Yeah? Uh -”

The kid’s gaze sharpened slightly, and Aubrey’s guard immediately went up. “That’s cool, my, uh - Janelle was just talking about you,” he said, hooking a thumb at Janelle’s door. “You’re Aubrey, right?”

“Yeah, okay - I don’t want to be rude, but -” Aubrey glanced at where he was pointing; the door was closed, which usually meant Janelle was busy, but - this kid had just come out, she was probably still free. “Who are you?”

The kid blinked - then beamed at her. His whole face changed, from something like constipated seriousness to almost childlike joy. Aubrey felt bad for feeling so suspicious of him; he was really just a kid. She realized that she hadn’t seen many child Sylphs around. “Oh - yeah, sorry, forgot to introduce myself,” he said bashfully. “I’m Fabian! It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Fabian,” Aubrey said, extending a hand. Fabian shook it; his hands were stained with ink splotches. “So - what do you… do around here?”

“Oh, I’m the court scribe,” Fabian said cheerfully. His eyes gleamed proudly behind his glasses, and he pushed them up, smudging his cheek with ink. Holy fucking shit, he was young - he looked like he was a freshman in high school, and acted like it too. What was the Council doing, having a kid this young do such an important job? He must have been pretty damn qualified - or, at least, older than he looked. That seemed to be a trend with Sylphs.

“That’s pretty neat!” Aubrey said.

“Thanks! I think so. It’s a tough job, but I have a lot of fun with it - writing down minutes for meetings, going through archives, it’s, uh… pretty great!” Personally, that didn’t sound like a lot of fun to Aubrey, but to each their own. People had different skills. At least he was having fun.

“I - you live in… uh. This might be a weird question,” he said, his voice dropping down to a whisper, “but you live in Kepler, right?”

“Yeah.”

Fabian fell silent, swallowed and glanced around. Then he scooted a bit closer; the floating stack of books and papers bobbed next to him like a buoy in water. He said softly, “Do you know my sisters?”

Aubrey blinked. “Who?”

“Dani and Evelyn, do you know them?” he whispered.

A wave of sorrow punched through Aubrey so hard she could feel it, somewhere behind her sternum. She tried to keep it from reaching her face; Fabian’s yellow-orange eyes were so wide, so earnest, and he was so _young -_ “Yeah,” she said quietly, acting like she was matching his tone. Something had swelled up in her throat, making it hard to speak. “I know them. They miss you.”

 _Shit._ The words slipped out before she could stop herself, and Fabian looked up at her, startled. She felt a stab of panic, looking into those eyes so like Dani’s - but younger. less haunted. Hopeful, even. God, this kid was - was exactly that, a _kid,_ and it just felt wrong to drop the truth on him. A truth she couldn’t even believe herself.

“Really?” he said softly. “They - they remember me?”

“Of course they do,” Aubrey said. The kid blinked a couple of times, and it looked like his eyes were welling up with tears. Oh, dear. “I - I’m kind of… dating Dani, actually.”

“Oh, _neat,”_ Fabian whispered. His smile returned, and he started rummaging through an inside pocket of his coat. “Can you give this to them when you get the chance?”

In his hand was a small package, that looked like a bundle of envelopes tied with miniscule twine. It looked like it had been enchanted that way, but Aubrey couldn’t tell for sure. Slowly, she reached out and let Fabian place it in her hand; her fingers tingled slightly, the way they did when they were near magic.

“Please?” Fabian said softly, practically vibrating with the effort of keeping quiet.

They were alone in the hallway, and yet he whispered as if the walls were lined with microphones and there were guards behind every door. Aubrey slipped the package into her pocket. “Okay,” she said, nodding, feeling the package tug on her like a leaden weight. “I’ll - I’ll pass it along.”

“Great,” Fabian said. He took a deep breath and sighed, staring down at his stack of books again. “Great…”

He snapped his fingers, and the stack, which had started to drift down to the ground, sprang back up. “Well, I’ll see you around,” he said, smiling shyly at her. “You, uh, you’re gonna be back, right?”

“I hope so, yeah,” Aubrey said.

“Oh - okay! Sounds great,” he said. He backed into the elevator, his floating stack of books drifting behind like a dog on a leash. “See you later, then!” Aubrey waved slowly as the door slid shut.

Just as the elevator door shut, Aubrey heard a door open. Janelle stuck her head out of her office and said, “Aubrey?”

“Yeah, it’s me! Hi, Janelle.”

Janelle stepped all the way out of her office. The small Sylph woman was dressed in her usual hodgepodge of coats and scarves, with a book jammed under one arm. “I didn’t expect you to come over today, Aubrey, I must admit,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Quite a bit sooner than I expected.”

“Yeah, well - I had some, uh. Issues.” Aubrey cleared her throat nervously. “I have some big questions, Janelle, and I don’t know what… I’m supposed to do, exactly.”

“Well,” Janelle sighed, “that’s what I’m here for.” She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and used it to scratch the back of her head. “Well, let’s get to work, then.”

Aubrey followed her mentor into her quarters and tugged the door closed behind her. This room, at the top of the tower, was surprisingly large and spacious; Janelle had everything organized, which really opened the place up, and the great stone walls curved around like two embracing arms. There were a couple of chairs next to a large table, almost like a conference room table in an office, or a really big desk. Aubrey made a beeline for one of those armchairs and sat down in it, wringing her hands. The pale, muted light from the cloudy sky outside washed over the room; it made a pale reflection on the polished wood.

“So, Aubrey,” Janelle sighed, sinking into the chair across from her. She pulled her legs up onto the chair and crossed them, propping her elbow on her knee and giving Aubrey a faint, warm smile. “How are you?”

“I’m - fine, I guess,” Aubrey said.

“What’s fine?” Janelle waved her hand and conjured up some teacups. Streams of tea began to pour into them from midair; Aubrey got some kind of herbal blend that smelled like one of Dani’s favorites, and just smelling it almost calmed her down. Janelle’s tea was straight black, with a faint dusting of sugar drifting down like snow into the cup. Must have been a long day.

Janelle sneezed as some of the sugar floated up. “What’s fine for _you,_ I mean? How has it been?”

“It’s… okay, maybe not fine, per se,” Aubrey sighed, slumping over a bit in her chair. Janelle let out a soft hum. “Yeah. Uh - we’re having problems.”

“You mean the Pine Guard, or you personally, or…”

“A bit of both.”

“Well, let’s start with you, if we can. There’s probably _something_ we can do, to figure out what’s going on -”

“It’s not me.”

Janelle raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“We - I’m not here to train today, Janelle,” Aubrey said. She fiddled idly with one of her earrings, tugging on it to keep herself centered. Janelle rearranged her legs on the armchair and straightened up, frowning. “I’ve - well - fuck, I don’t know to put this, but - do you guys have any, like… detecting spells?”

Janelle’s eyebrows went up. “Mm,” she said. “What for?”

“Is that a yes?”

“It is, but… why, what, who, how? There are many, many different types of every kind of spell, Aubrey,” Janelle said, gesturing widely with both arms. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“Well, uh. It’s for the bom-bom we’re trying to hunt this time around.”

“Really…”

Aubrey nodded. “Yeah, it can turn invisible,” she said. She picked up her tea and finally took a sip. Janelle breathed in sharply through her teeth. Her canines were slightly pointed; Aubrey had never noticed that before. “It’s been giving all of us hell, and I figured - well, if we could see it, somehow, that’d help us?”

“Mm, I see.” Janelle picked up her own teacup and looked at it pensively. One hand drifted up and started toying with the ends of her hair, which was shoulder-length and greying. Aubrey felt a strange sense of deja-vu wash over her and frowned into her teacup. “Well, there is a spell to detect… magical signatures, I suppose. That could work, if it is tuned to the resonance of the - the creature you’re trying to find. Is it just this abomination?”

Aubrey squirmed and sipped her tea.

_“Aubrey…”_

“No,” she admitted. “I - there’s other stuff going on, that I need to figure out.”

“That’s understandable,” Janelle said, nodding. She reached out and gently patted Aubrey’s knee, in a way that felt understanding and not condescending. “You’ve put quite a few interesting months behind you, Aubrey, and I… I hope that we’ll be able to make some progress. What’s been going on?”

Aubrey took a deep breath and slowly let it out; her breath made ripples in her tea. “Well,” she said, “I - there’s this girl.”

“Oh -” Janelle straightened up. “If - if this is a relationship thing, then I don’t - I don’t know if i’m qualified to -”

“Oh, no, no, I’m good there,” Aubrey said quickly. “I - it’s all working out, don’t worry.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What’s her name?”

“Her name’s Dani,” Aubrey said - and she could hear her voice getting all warm and sappy just talking about her, but Jesus, she couldn’t help it. “She’s great, she’s really nice and sweet and I - I like her a lot. She has a little brother here, by the way -”

“You don’t say,” Janelle said faintly.

“Yeah, his name’s Fabian, I met him outside,” Aubrey said. “Cute little kid, kind of jumpy, but - well, so am I, I guess, so I like him. He’s a pretty chill dude. But -” She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, feeling a headache start to throb. “She had a sister, and I’m trying to find her, and -”

Janelle’s teacup shattered on the ground.

Aubrey flinched so hard that her chair scooted back, and she stared at Janelle. Janelle had gone oddly still; the light from outside reflected strangely on her glasses, so Aubrey couldn’t make out her eyes, but the rest of her face had gone slack with shock.

“ _Had_ ?” Janelle breathed. She stared at Aubrey like she’d just seen her burst into flame. Seeing Janelle like this sent stabs of panic through Aubrey’s chest, and she felt a heavy shroud fall over her, unable to shake the feeling that she’d done something wrong, something _wrong_.

“Well, I don’t - know for sure - are you okay?” Aubrey said worriedly. “Janelle -”

“What happened to Evelyn, Aubrey?” Janelle said sharply. And Aubrey realized that she had never said Evelyn’s name, not even once. Janelle stood up, her hands clasping each other so tight that her knuckles were white.

“She - wait, you know her?” Aubrey said. “You know who Evelyn is?”

Janelle stood up and promptly stepped on the shards of her teacup; there was a faint crunch under her boot. She hissed a curse in a language Aubrey didn't know and clenched her fist; the broken pieces slammed together so hard Aubrey heard the ceramic creak. Janelle flicked her hand up to place it on the table, but the cup rose into the air and hit the table so hard it shattered again. Aubrey stopped breathing.

Slowly, Janelle reached up and grabbed fistfuls of her hair, closing her eyes. “I do,” she whispered. “I do.”

“But - how?”

Janelle turned to the window; her glasses flashed in the pearly light. “Fabian,” she said, her mouth drawn into a pained slash, “is my son. They’re my children, Aubrey.”

It took a while for the pieces to fall into place, but when they did, Aubrey almost passed out right there. Now she saw it, all the things that were confusing her - the strange sense of deja vu that she hadn’t been able to place: Janelle’s slightly-pointed teeth, the way she played with the ends of her hair the same way Dani did, the fucking _tea._ God, how? Dani had never mentioned this - had never said a _word_ about who or what Janelle was to her. What had happened?

“But - they’re exiles,” she said softly. Janelle nodded, face quivering, and sat down heavily in the chair. “Janelle, what -”

“I,” Janelle said quietly, “will be frank with you on this matter, Aubrey.” Aubrey blinked. “I… do not necessarily agree with the position that this establishment takes on exiles. That’s a point of contention in our Council, and I obviously have some bias on the matter -”

“Well, your - your _kids,_ they’ve been exiled, of course you have issues with that,” Aubrey exclaimed.

“Exiled on paper, perhaps,” Janelle said darkly. She sighed and pushed her hair out of her face, staring unseeingly at the shattered teacup on the table. Its pale shards were nearly invisible in the stark light pouring through the window; Aubrey was reminded bizarrely of ice cubes floating in milk, and shuddered. “There are political exiles, certainly, but there are other - other forms, and papers, and terminology, and…”

“I’m not following,” Aubrey said hesitantly.

“Okay.” Janelle sighed and rubbed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll say this much - there are… limited resources here. The Heart of Sylvain is gone, Aubrey. The entity that lived in it, that sustained us, she is… gone. And because she is gone, there’s - It’s hard, Aubrey. Living here.”

She laced her fingers together and put her hands in her lap, staring right at Aubrey. There was a flat, weary look in her eyes that Aubrey didn’t know what to think of. “There isn’t enough life in this world left for all of us to survive. We have to make choices, some of them easy, some of them hard, some of - some of them morally _reprehensible,_ but choices nonetheless.”

Janelle took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. “Dani and Evelyn were sent away,” she said. “Fabian was… he was lucky. He showed talent, and my fellow Council members noticed, and after - well, after Indrid left, we were lacking both a Seer and a Scribe. Indrid covered both those positions remarkably well, especially after… well. We didn’t think we needed a Seer, especially since the fate of our world seemed so - so clear, permanent at that point, but we did need a Scribe to write down our histories and meetings. And Fabian, he really took to that.

“But they didn’t see any… _need_ for Dani and Evelyn to stay,” Janelle said quietly. Her face was cold and hard, but her eyes burned with a quiet rage that Aubrey had never seen. “Children put a greater drain on the limited powers left in our crystal; they need more energy to grow, I suppose. Earth is not dying, it is not withering, not yet, so… they were sent away.”

“Oh,” Aubrey said, in a small voice.

Janelle nodded once. “That’s part of the reason why the Council and our Interpreter tolerate Mama, a human, in Sylvain so much; her Lodge cares for the people that our world is too weak to. I’ve heard that there are many places like Amnesty Lodge, scattered around the world, near hot springs where your Earth’s power is strongest. If I ever get a chance to visit your world,” Janelle said firmly, “I will visit every single one I can find, every one that is still standing, and personally thank whoever runs them, because Aubrey - they’re keeping Sylvain alive, in a way. Keeping our children alive. And I hope, beyond hope, that someday they can all come back.”

Janelle took a deep breath and slowly let it out, staring at the shards of broken china on the countertop. She lifted a hand and twitched her fingers, and it slowly pieced itself together. “That being said, Aubrey,” she said, slowly lifting her eyes. “I do want to know what happened to my daughter. And…” She closed her eyes and sighed quietly, and was silent for a bit, as if preparing herself for a blow. “Be honest with me.”

“I - don’t know what happened, exactly,” Aubrey said heavily. Janelle sighed and looked at the floor. “It’s complicated, I don’t - it all circles back to the bom-bom, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“The Pine Guard… back in the day, like - maybe 20 years ago, they fought it. This thing came raring out of nowhere in the middle of June, and it just. Destroyed them. They weren’t able to kill it, and it kind of disappeared, I guess?”

“Mm.” Janelle propped her chin on her hand and frowned at Aubrey. Some of the emotions from before had bled away, replaced with cold, thoughtful calculation - as if she was doing a math problem in her head. “And what did this thing do?”

“It took everyone’s memories,” Aubrey said.

Janelle’s eyes flashed. There was a percussive rumble deep in the floor, and every single candle in the room went out. Oh, shit.

“What,” Janelle breathed. “Aubrey, say that again.”

“It took - everyone’s memories? Janelle, what’s going on?” Aubrey said, perplexed.

“Oh, gods,” Janelle whispered, standing up. “Oh, gods almighty.”

“Janelle -”

“Aubrey, you really should have led with that, you should have,” Janelle said, heading for her bookshelf. “Gods above, Aubrey, I have - wait.” She held her hands up and shook her head, turning around. Words poured out faster than Aubrey could keep track. “Wait, wait, no. Tell me about this thing. What does it look like? What can it do? Tell me everything, before I jump to conclusions.”

“Well -” Aubrey swallowed, settling into her chair and praying that it would swallow her whole. “It - it latches onto you and takes all your memories, I guess, that’s all I can describe it.” Janelle nodded, both hands on her hips; her mouth was twisted in a sour line. “That’s why I’m here looking for, like, some kind of sensor? Not just to find it, because it can turn fuckin’ invisible, yeah, but - it got Evelyn. Got her bad.”

Janelle’s focus broke for a bit, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“And everyone thinks she’s dead, but I don’t,” Aubrey said firmly. “They - they never found her body, and that’s not adding up, Janelle. I want to believe she’s alive, and I want to look for her.”

“And I want you to look for her too,” Janelle said softly. She shook her head. “Gods above, Aubrey, please, I want you to look for her, thank you so much for doing that - I can’t leave Sylvain, Aubrey, my position here is too important, but please - whatever you need to do to find her, I’m more than willing to help.”

She turned towards her bookshelf again and paused. “But - one thing, Aubrey,” she said slowly, turning back to face her. Her face was deadly serious again. “Tell me. What does this abomination look like?”

There was a sudden high-pitched wail that rose through the air like the distant shriek of a dying beast. Janelle and Aubrey locked eyes. The noise stirred something deep down in Aubrey's chest, as if she had heard it _somewhere_ before and should have known exactly where, but _couldn't_ -

"Oh, no," Janelle croaked, and raced for the door.

"Wait, what -"

"Aubrey, stay here," Janelle ordered. She grabbed a magic wand and clamped it between her teeth, hurriedly binding up her hair with a piece of string. "That's an order," she said around the wand. "Stay here -" She took it out of her mouth and gave Aubrey a stern look. "This isn't your fight."

"Yes it is!"

"No, it's not," Janelle said, shaking her head. Her face was haggard, haunted; she looked like she was going off to fight a battle that, by all rights, should have ended long ago, and for fuck's sake Aubrey just wanted to _help_ \- "This isn't your world to save, Aubrey," she said. "This is a fight that Sylvain has been waiting to fight for almost two centuries, and I don't want you anywhere near it."

Aubrey opened her mouth to speak, but Janelle's face twisted into something pained and grim, and she was gone. Shaking her head, Aubrey ran for the window and looked down into the courtyard.

She could see guards sprinting towards the castle, spells being charged, weapons glinting in the muted, cloudy light - and a great cloud of dark smoke roiled near the base of Sylvain's crystal, nearly obscuring its light. The guards closest to the crystal stopped dead in their tracks; some even started to run away, as the cloud grew bigger, and bigger, and -

A pair of grotesque, batlike wings emerged from the cloud. And another. And another, spreading wider and wider until the crystal was nearly hidden from sight. A giant hand slammed on the crystal's surface - it glowed and dimmed, power surging from the crystal into the cloud. Aubrey watched in horror as the mist churned and seemed to become more solid, coalescing into a horrendous, misshapen body: too-long arms, too-big hands, a skeletal grey body that was nearly as tall as the crystal itself, crowned with a great horned head and a pair of gleaming, malevolent red eyes. The crystal’s light dimmed until it was nothing but a faint orange glow.

The Ashminder - its body solid and terrifying - threw its head in the air and let out a triumphant scream, like the shriek of tearing metal.

"Oh, fuck," Aubrey breathed.

* * *

Duck was considering becoming an Uber driver.

He’d be good at it, frankly. He’d been spending an awful lot of time this week driving people from place to place. Though he might get in trouble for using government property to do it. That wouldn’t be ideal. He had no idea if he’d get fired for that - he’d have to ask Juno, but she’d probably laugh at him.

As it were, though, he didn’t mind being the Pine Guard’s personal chauffeur. Better him than Ned. And he certainly didn’t mind having Indrid in his car - though, on the way home from Leo’s store, with a truck bed full of groceries and a strangely drowsy Indrid clutching his journal and a paper cup of hot cocoa in the front seat, his skin was on fire with nerves that only slightly had something to do with the man sitting next to him.

Indrid paged to the front of his journal and began to read, like a high schooler studying his notes for an exam. His long fingers fluttered over the pages like a moth’s antennae. Duck thought, inexplicably, of those long fingers playing with the ends of his hair this morning, and the truck started to drift into the oncoming lane. He took a deep breath and stared resolutely out the windshield.

Back at his apartment, the afternoon drifted off into a quiet, lazy evening. When Duck picked up Indrid, he’d also grabbed a fair share of groceries: some frozen meals, hot cocoa mix, vegetables, a six-pack of Arizona iced teas, that fancy-ish soap Indrid wanted. His pantry was looking a bit bare. Duck couldn’t cook for shit, but he suspected that Indrid could; despite his withered, slightly gaunt appearance, he did seem to know his way around the kitchen well enough to survive.

Well. More than Duck did, at any rate. Duck threw some spaghetti in a pot of boiling water, Indrid dumped a can of sauce in a Tupperware container and put it in the microwave. They made grilled-cheese sandwiches. Look at them. Guy Fieri would be so proud.

Eventually, they sat down at Duck’s small kitchen table to eat; Duck had only slightly overcooked the pasta, and the sauce was a little cold, but it was still a great meal. Indrid seemed to be improving. The longer the afternoon drew on, the more life seemed to surge into him; Duck saw color returning to his ashen face and a spark in his eyes, and the sight made a satisfied, grateful warmth flare up in his chest.

“So,” Indrid said, twirling his fork in the spaghetti; the noodles bunched up and made a small nest in the fork’s tines. “How was the meeting?”

Duck grimaced and picked at the crust of his grilled cheese. Indrid sat half-slumped over in his chair, one arm’s elbow perilously close to being in the middle of his plate, and the hand of the other gently tapping a pen against the pages of his journal. His sweater sleeves were pushed halfway up his bony arms. He was the polar opposite of the man who had sat at Stern’s desk wearing Indrid’s face, back ramrod straight and posture stiff.

“Could’ve gone better,” Duck said quietly.

Indrid hummed softly and flipped the pen over, as if to begin writing. “Could you tell me about it?” he asked.

“Well,” Duck said, rubbing his eyes. Jesus. “It was… real rough, I can tell you that. We kinda just - went over the shit that happened last night. Stern’s in a bit of a pickle, y’know, and nobody can really -”

“ - tell why,” Indrid said, his words overlapping Duck’s.

Duck almost dropped his fork.

“Yes, hm. How bad off is he?”

Duck couldn’t speak for a bit. Had that been coincidence? Had Indrid’s words overlapped with his by accident, or because he… he was getting better? Was he healing?

“Duck?”

“Right. Uh - Stern’s bad,” he said. “He’s down to one word - can only say - Jesus Christ, this is gonna sound real fuckin’ weird, Indrid, but -”

“I can assure you, nothing surprises me anymore,” Indrid said, giving him a soft smile.

“M’kay. He can only say ‘Mothman.’”

Indrid dropped his fork right in the middle of his spaghetti.

“You look pretty damn surprised,” Duck said dryly.

“Oh, shut up,” Indrid said, looking faintly nauseous. His eyes had a troubled look in them that sent nervous pangs through Duck’s chest, because this was a whole separate rabbit hole that he wasn’t sure he was prepared to go down. God, if there was anything he was bad at, it was bringing up gnarly situations. This was the exact opposite of ideal.

Winnie jumped up on the counter, where Duck had accidentally left out the butter from making the grilled-cheese sandwiches, and sniffed it cautiously. “Hey, no,” Duck said, standing up and grabbing the butter from her. Indrid made a strange, half-thoughtful and half-nauseous sound and began to write.

Duck was just about to put the stick of butter back in the fridge when Winnie yowled; the air rippled and smelled faintly of ozone, and the kitchen was bathed in a soft, pale blue light. He let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. “Hey, Minerva.”

“Hello, Duck Newton,” Minerva said - and the way she said it, quiet and flat, made another wave of revolted panic ripple up Duck’s spine. God, this day was shaping up to be horrible.

“Duck, what -”

“It’s just Minerva, Indrid,” he said wearily, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t get too worried ‘bout her, it’s - weird. Only I can see her.” Indrid was squinting at the rough spot where Minerva was standing; her light - strangely enough - didn’t seem to reflect off his glasses. His feathery eyebrows crept up as Winnie’s poofy fur started to flatten, seemingly of its own accord. Minerva was actually petting Winnie, who seemed surprised by this development.

“Uh,” Duck said.

“Duck Newton,” Minerva said quietly, “I’m not going to be here for long.”

Duck slowly closed the refrigerator door. On the other side of the kitchen, Indrid started to write in his journal. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said uncertainly. “Minerva, is - is everything alright?”

And Minerva slowly shook her head. “No, Duck,” she said. She leaned heavily against the counter. Winnie cautiously approached her, sniffed her armored shoulder, and scrubbed her cheek against her. “It’s not.”

“How come?”

For a long while - until the clock ticked over to 6:15 - Minerva was silent, watching Winnie rub her cheek over her (invisible) armor’s edges. Indrid’s scribbling in the corner grew more furious.

“Last night, when we spoke, Duck, I said that I would return to my world to do some research,” Minerva said heavily. “I - I think that I may have been wrong.” Duck could tell those words pained her to say, but he didn’t know for the life of him _why -_ “Some things are the same between our worlds, and some are different, and I operated under a different assumption than I do now. I thought your world would be different.”

“Why?”

“In the grand scheme of things,” Minerva sighed, “the people of Earth and Sylvain are not like the people of my own former system, Duck. You have different histories. Different worldviews. And I thought, at the heart of it, that the dice would fall differently for your worlds, but… that’s not so, I suppose. It’s really not.”

Duck shook his head. It was getting too late in the day for introspection, he thought, and his head was starting to hurt. “Minerva, I’m not following, I’m sorry,” he said.

The clock ticked over to 6:16.

“The impetus was the same,” Minerva said. “The people of my sister planet were withering away. Something was… possessing them, as they withered, taking them over. A sentient plague. A hunger, almost.”

“Sounds familiar,” Duck muttered.

If Minerva had a visible mouth, it would have twisted in displeasure. “Yes,” she said. “Some - some from that world went, well, _feral,_ for lack of a better word, and burst into our own world, and we had to kill them.

“But some,” she said heavily, “were sent.”

Duck went still. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “What the fuck _,_ Minerva, what does that fucking _mean -”_

“It means,” said Minerva, her voice firm but shaking slightly, “that you need to watch your back.”

And she vanished. The clock on the wall read 6:17, and she was gone.

Oh, fucking Christ. What did this mean? Had the abominations of Minerva’s planet system been from her sister planet the whole time? Had _their_ abominations been Sylvan - Sylphs gone feral? The thought made something deep inside Duck’s chest twist, like a buried dagger, and the memory of the closed hot springs from a few months before swept over him.

Glinting orange eyes, pointed teeth - what would happen to Dani or Jake, or any of the other exiles, if they lost control? What then? Feeling vaguely nauseous, he put both his hands on the countertop and stared at it, trying to slow his breathing. But in his mind’s eye, he saw himself holding a rifle and aiming - not at some beast, gone ravenous and feral, with black sludge dripping from its eyes and mouth, but at Barclay. At Dani, at Jake. At Indrid.

At the dining table, Indrid cursed quietly, vehemently, and slammed his fork down.

Duck flinched and looked up. Indrid was scribbling furiously in his journal, his knuckles white on the pen. “Indrid, are you okay?” Duck said, alarmed.

“No,” Indrid said curtly. Duck hurried out from behind the counter and hovered uncertainly next to Indrid’s shoulder. Indrid was hunched over the journal, sick and shivering - there was no indication that he knew Duck was standing there at all, and Duck wanted to put his hand on Indrid’s shoulder but didn’t know what to do, or say, or -

“I can see again,” Indrid said shakily. He scribbled out some words that looked more like lines from a seismograph’s needle, and tore out a page. Duck flinched. “I can _see.”_

“You can?”

“My visions - are coming back, Duck, I can see,” Indrid said. He tore out a page, then another, then another, each sound like nails scraping down the inside of Duck’s chest; the blank expanse quickly filled up with shaky sketches. “I’m seeing things now,” he said under his breath, half to himself. “The - the Ashminder must be far, far away, because its mere presence is enough to fog minds and brains within at least a half mile, Duck. It, it, it’s -”

He waved one hand in an expansive, fluttering gesture, taking in the whole kitchen and the world beyond. “Now it’s gone, but I see it coming back,” he said fervently. His voice became sharp and brittle, and he coughed a couple of times into his elbow, shoulders hunching. “The Ashminder’s going to come back, and -”

“Indrid, hang on a sec,” Duck said gently.

Indrid shook his head. “I need string,” he muttered. He stood up, the plates on the table rattling, and ran both hands through his hair, almost on the verge of tearing it out. “I - need pins, string, I need to see this path before it gets away from me -”

He picked up the journal again, feverishly skimming the pages. Duck could see panicked tears glinting in his eyes. He said, “You don’t have to -”

Indrid slammed the journal shut. “Yes, I _do,”_ he snapped, his voice rising sharply, and Duck took a step backwards.

And Indrid sank into his chair again, slowly, as if he was a collapsing column of sand. His knuckles were white on the journal and his jaw was tense. Duck couldn’t help but remember last night’s conversation, with a sinking pit of dread in his stomach; they were walking that same path again, dangerously close to it, but here it was different somehow. _You don’t need to know everything,_ he’d said softly, and that had made sense to Indrid. Maybe his words were less real in the light of day; maybe they’d made more sense last night, when Indrid’s sight was more or less gone and he had just… accepted that fact.

Now, though, it had all come rushing back to him - in confused flashes, from the sounds of it, in a slew of images that he couldn’t parse. And Indrid needed to know, _had_ to know, because in his mind it was his duty to the world to know what they didn’t.

It didn’t have to be that way. It didn’t.

Indrid shakily opened the journal again and reached for his pen, but Duck beat him to it; he gently grabbed Indrid’s hand and held it in place, like capturing a bird in flight, and Indrid’s breath left him in a soft exhale. “Tell me what you see,” he said quietly. “Okay, Indrid? Tell me what you’re seein’ here, and I’ll remember it, I swear.”

Indrid’s eyes fluttered shut, and he nodded slightly.

“Let me help you, man. Dunno if it’ll be much, but I’ll do my best, okay?”

His hand flexed gently in Duck’s grip, lacing their fingers together. Duck grabbed a legal pad off the counter and a pen.

“What’ve you got?” he said softly.

Now these visions were different than how they were before. “You have six minutes- ” “In three minutes- ” “Soon.” These were what Indrid most likely kept under wraps, the stream of words and thoughts and images that he distilled down into those neat packages. But here, all that was unveiled. All Duck could do was write and write and hope to whatever god was listening that he could do something, because fuck it, he just wanted to _help._

“There are,” Indrid said, taking a deep breath. His eyes were still jammed shut. “There are two of me. There are two of me, and - one of me is wearing old clothes and has black hair, and that’s - I don’t know who he is. I see Dani standing under a tree in the dark, holding a stick like a sword, or a - an umbrella.”

Duck squeezed Indrid’s hand as the man faltered; his eyes darted back and forth under his closed lids.

“I see the forest on fire,” Indrid whispered. “I see… a waterfall, I - Aubrey is holding hands with someone, with - with - no, Vanessa isn’t there, she’s supposed to be there -”

Wait, who? Duck’s pen paused over the page.

“-And there is shadow, and fire, and Barclay is holding Ned’s body -”

Duck really did drop his pen that time, feeling all the breath rush out of his lungs. “And - no, Ned is holding Barclay’s, no, but there’s no fire, there’s blood in the water, I don’t know whose it is -” Indrid’s voice fell to a plaintive whisper, almost a plea, and he said, “I don’t know, I don’t _know -”_

“Indrid, it’s okay,” Duck said, squeezing his hand.

“I see you leaving,” Indrid said, not seeming to hear him. “I see you living, I see you dying, I - it feels like I can see everything, all of existence all at once, and it’s _wrong,_ it’s too much, after all this time, and I can’t -”

“No.”

He squeezed Indrid’s hand again, so hard he could feel the bones ship in his grip, and Indrid’s eyes flew open. “We’re gonna get through this, Indrid,” Duck said firmly, and he wanted more than anything to believe his own words. He was almost there. He covered their enlaced hands with his other one, and Indrid just stared at him, breathless and confused. “I’m not goin’ anywhere as long as I have a say in it. I swear.”

Indrid took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, so slow that Duck could hardly tell he was breathing at all. He slowly bowed his head and nodded, squeezing Duck’s hand. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I’m - I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Indr -” The name somehow got lost between Duck’s brain and his mouth, and came out as _Indy;_ the softness of the accidental nickname seemed to almost bring color back to Indrid’s fearful, washed out face. Duck decided then and there to keep it. “You don’t have to apologize, it’s alright,” he said. “I understand. Is - is there anything else you need?”

For a minute, in the dark kitchen, there was nothing but breathless, terrified silence. Beacon shifted on the countertop, his metal plates clanking softly.

“You know something,” Indrid said at last. “Something about what I saw.”

Duck swallowed yes.

Indrid looked him in the eye. “Tell me,” he said quietly.

And Duck did.

* * *

Janelle could teleport. This was _ridiculously_ unfair. The fastest way down the tower was to just take the stairs, and Aubrey launched herself down the stairs two, three, four at a time. Outside, she could hear the Ashminder's triumphant screams through the stone walls. Now that it had real lungs, the noises it made were louder, more terrible, and absolutely terrifying. All hell was breaking loose.

Aubrey flexed her fingers, willing magic into them, and took a deep breath. She could do this. She could help. It was going to be okay.

The main door to the castle hung ajar, but there was a forest of guards standing in front of it, spears and pikes facing outwards. Aubrey elbowed past one and shook off the hands that tried to tug her back. "Oh, fucking shit," she breathed, once she was out of reach of the guards. Now, she had a good view of the courtyard below, and the sight made her blood run cold.

The flowers were trampled; guards swarmed the courtyard, trying to keep the Ashminder away from the crystal however they could. The Ashminder hovered over them like a dragon laying siege to a village. Below, the guards were trying to shoot it with arrows, blast it away with gusts of wind - but it was too close to them, and any move they took would have a risk of hitting their own people. The Ashminder's lower set of wings flared wide, and it kicked out with its lower legs, sending one guard flying across the courtyard and into the wall of the castle. Aubrey cringed.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard, sizing up the attack with a crackling ball of energy in her hand, was Janelle. Aubrey gulped and started trying to edge around her, heading for a place where she wouldn't be seen, but she ran into someone and nearly knocked them down the stairs. "Sorry," she said automatically.

Then she looked at them. There was a fog over her mind, and she felt like she knew this kid, but she didn't know where or how -

"Hi, Aubrey," he said.

She felt the blood rush from her face. _"Fabian?"_

"Where's my mom, Aubrey?" Fabian said frantically, staring right back at her. He'd cleaned the smudges off his face, but not very well, and he looked scared out of his goddamn mind. "I saw her run past me and go out here, where is she -?"

"Oh, no, sir, nope, you're not coming out here," Aubrey said firmly, grabbing his elbow and dragging him up the stairs. He started to protest, and nearly tugged out of her grip. Jesus, the kid was strong. "Stay inside, Fabian -"

"But I can help!" Fabian insisted.

In the courtyard, there was a guttural snarl that Aubrey felt deep down in her chest, and the ground shook. More guards went flying. Shit on a shingle, this was going badly. "You can help by staying put, so we don't have to worry about you beefing it," Aubrey said bluntly. Fabian went pale. "Listen, I'm sorry, but your mom's gonna be pissed at me if you -"

There was an odd moment of cold, thin silence. Fabian squeaked. Slowly, Aubrey turned around.

Most of the guards had been knocked out and lay, silent and still, on the trampled flowers in the courtyard. The others were scrambling away. The Ashminder's great wings flexed and its eyes flared; its too-long, too-thin arms lifted, and slowly reached for Aubrey. There was a semblance of a cold, cruel smile on its misshapen face, like a moldy jack-o-lantern, and Aubrey felt the edges of her mind grow fuzzy around the edges, as if - as if she was forgetting something -

No. Fuck, God, no, not this again.

"Aw, dunk," she said quietly, and lifted her shaking hands.

A fireball tore out of her hands, but she realized - too late, too fucking late - that it was nearly the width of the crystal itself, and so large that she could feel it drawing energy from her very bones. It slammed into the Ashminder like a weather balloon hitting a semi, and the creature staggered backwards, on fire from head to toe. It screamed again, a sound like train cars squealing on the rails, and staggered away. For a moment, Aubrey was proud of herself.

Then the fire spread. It set fire to the flowers and brush that Aubrey had left when she touched the cyrstal, and came dangerously close to some of the unconscious guards. And the flames licked against Janelle's boots; the Sylph slammed her hands together, and a wave of force blasted outward from her. It had a deep, percussive sound that made Aubrey's teeth rattle; the flames flickered out before it.

Janelle turned. "Aubrey," she said severely.

"Hi," Aubrey said, wiggling her fingers in a wave.

"Get inside, now," Janelle snapped. Then her eyes drifted to the side and landed on Fabian, who was doing his best to cower behind Aubrey. She stared. "Fabian, what are you doing?" she barked. "Get inside!"

"Sorry, I just wanted to help!" Fabian said shrilly.

On the other side of the courtyard, the Ashminder staggered to its feet.

"Fabian, honey, get inside, I'm serious," Janelle said, creeping backwards up the stairs. Her attention was focused on the Ashminder, who was now smoldering and emitting smoke and looking thoroughly pissed off. Aubrey heard one of the guards curse quietly behind her. "We'll take care of this."

"We?" Aubrey said hopefully.

Janelle shook her head. "No," she said. Now she was only two steps below Aubrey. She quickly removed one of her scarves, tugged it sharply twice, and threw one end out in front of her - but Aubrey saw it shimmer and shift, curving gently, reshaping itself into a longbow. Janelle's other scarf turned into a quiver of arrows, each one carved with sigils and flickering in various colors. The power radiating off her weapons made it hard for Aubrey to breathe. "Not you. Them."

Janelle pointed across the courtyard - and just then, Aubrey heard a gunshot and saw a flare of red hair. The Ashminder roared and clapped a hand to its head. A glowing staff swept through the fire and smoke and smashed it in the ribs.

"Oh," she said feebly.

"Aubrey, I love you, but leave it to the professionals," Janelle said grimly, nocking an arrow that smelled of ozone and glowed with the fire of a distant star.

A strong wind kicked up - Aubrey couldn't tell if it was magical or not - and blew away some of the smoke. Now she could see clearly that Mama and Vanessa were on the other side of the clearing; Mama was standing on a statue's pedestal with a pistol, aiming at whatever part of the Ashminder was closest to Vanessa at the moment, while Vanessa was... she was a _whirlwind._ That staff of hers was glowing along its entire length, and every blow she landed sent a ripple of blue-green light along the Ashminder's gruesome, exposed ribs. Aubrey heard her yell something, jump in the air, and bring the staff down right on the Ashminder's head.

"Whoa, she's cool," Fabian breathed.

"Hell yeah, she is," Aubrey said faintly.

And Janelle hadn't been lying; the three of them who were taking the Ashminder on really were professionals. Fighting this thing was not a battle; it was like an elegant, elaborate dance. Vanessa was in close, a whirlwind of leather and fire and fiercely-bared teeth; her staff was like a storm, crackling with thunder and dealing percussive blows that Aubrey could hear even from this far away. Mama was defense, staving off the Ashminder's attacks on Vanessa - that thing had some nasty claws on the ends of its hands. And below Aubrey, Janelle was the sniper, attacking it from a distance. Her arrows didn't do much physical damage, but the spells they were charmed with packed a hell of a punch.

They knew what they were doing. That was for sure. That didn't mean that Aubrey didn't still want to help.

"Get Fabian inside, Aubrey," Janelle yelled over her shoulder, nocking another arrow. The Ashminder reached slowly for Sylvain's crystal, towering over it; both Mama and Janelle shot its outstretched hand, and it withdrew as if it had been burned. Janelle's arrow set its hand on fire for good measure. "Aubrey!"

Aubrey realized she'd been staring and shook herself, grabbing Fabian's shoulder. "Shit, right," she said quickly. "Sorry. C'mon, kid."

"Aw, come on -"

"No buts, we've gotta go inside," Aubrey said, steering him up the stairs. "Your mom has this handled -"

Then, inside, there was a slight commotion. The guards defending the castle glanced over their shoulder and scrambled out of the way, as an incorporeal, spectral man drifted through their ranks. He was large, he was old, and he looked thoroughly pissed off. Aubrey suppressed the urge to groan under her breath.

"What," Woodbridge, the Minister of Preservation, snarled, "is the _meaning_ of this?"

The Ashminder bellowed as Vanessa clubbed it right in the elbow. Ooh, funny bone shot, that had to hurt. "Little busy here, Woodbridge," Janelle yelled over her shoulder.

Woodbridge sputtered something indignant and drifted down the stairs. "That's not an explanation, Janelle, and I demand one," he sniffed. He folded his ghostly hands over his belly and surveyed the scene, looking down on the Ashminder with what appeared to be faint disgust. Not what Aubrey was expecting; sheer terror seemed like it would be more appropriate.  "What's all this, then?"

"Not now," Janelle snapped. "We're trying to kill it!"

"On _Sylvan_ soil?" Woodbridge drew himself up indignantly, his mustache bristling. Aubrey saw Fabian roll his eyes and turn away. "A larger travesty, I cannot imagine. This is not our responsibility, and you know it! Get it out of here. Then kill it."

The Ashminder staggered backwards and tripped over a retaining wall, which would have been humorous if the air wasn't thick with fear and panic. Aubrey could still feel its powers tugging at her mind, fogging the edges, and started thinking of how to do taxes. If it was going to take something, at least have it be something she could relearn. "We're trying to _defend_ Sylvain, Woodbridge, and keep people from dying! Stop stepping on Vincent's hooves!" Janelle snapped, glaring at Woodbridge. “He’s already mad at you.”

"False," Woodbridge sniffed. "In my eyes, you're trying to preserve Sylvain and its crystal."

"Someone could get _killed,_ you old coot," Vanessa snarled. At the sound of her voice, Woodbridge visibly jerked backwards, partially phasing his feet through the stairs. "That's defense! We're not -" She batted one of the Ashminder's massive wings away. "We're not just preserving the damn thing!"

"What in the seven hells and twelve planes is she doing here," Woodbridge muttered under his breath. He looked like he was starting to get truly mad now, as if Vanessa's mere presence here was ruining his day.

"She's helping," Aubrey ventured to say.

Woodbridge ignored her. Typical. He stared at Vanessa for a long, long while, even when she focused back on the Ashminder and beating the absolute hell out of it. Then he cleared his throat and drifted further down the stairs. "If you're going to kill it, get it out of Sylvain," he snarled. "It doesn't belong here - it _never_ belonged here. This is not its world."

And the Ashminder went still at his words.

"Vile, foul creature," Woodbridge snarled. He flung one arm in the vague direction of the gate to Earth. "Leave this place, and never come back."

For a moment, the courtyard was still and silent. The Ashminder stared at Woodbridge as if it - well, as if it had seen a ghost. Aubrey felt a strange emotion bubble up in her chest, looking at the thing, at the way its shoulders were hunched and its head tilted. As if it could understand Woodbridge's words.

Mama took the opportunity to take a headshot. The bullet pinged off its semi-exposed skull, dangerously close to one of its eyeballs, and it growled. Woodbridge seemed to shrink as the Ashminder's attention drifted back to him.

Then it opened its great, terrible mouth and _screamed_ \- a sound Aubrey never wanted to hear again, because it dug deep down into her chest in a way that the never wanted to feel again. It was not a battle cry - it was a wail, of despair and grief and rage and so, so much pain, and…

It sounded too human to come out of the face of this monster. It was wrong.

Then it took a step forward and swiped at Woodbridge, its hand going straight through him, and Aubrey jerked back to life. She impulsively drove two fists into the air, as if she was punching it, and slammed a wave of force into the Ashminder's chest. Woodbridge made a highly undignified squeal and sped back into the building, the guards scattering to make way.

The force punched the Ashminder clear across the courtyard, sending it sprawling on the banks of the moat surrounding the castle. "Good one, Aubrey," Mama yelled, gesturing at her. "Keep it comin', that was a good shot!"

"Are you kidding? No!" Janelle shouted. "She's not -"

"All signs point to yes, Jan," Vanessa said curtly, nodding once at Aubrey. "Let her pull her weight. She's doing well enough.

"Thanks," Aubrey said, grinning. Vanessa gave her an unreadable look and sprinted off towards where the Ashminder was flailing around in the river. That thing sure didn't like water. It looked like they were going to follow Woodbridge's... well, order, and drive the thing back to Sylvain. He had a bit of a point; hunting abominations was the Pine Guard's end of the deal, and they had to keep it on their soil. But wouldn't it just be easier - and wouldn't it keep everyone safer - if they just killed it here?

Aubrey wanted to run off and help, but down the stairs, Janelle seemed to be having a bit of a crisis. The words that Woodbridge had shouted at the thing seemed to have affected her, too, and her grip on her bow was starting to shake. "Gods," she said hoarsely. "Oh, Gods above..."

"Janelle?" Aubrey asked. "You - you alright?"

Janelle shook her head, and twisted the wrist holding her bow. It rippled gently, like a flag in the wind, and turned back into her scarf. "No," she croaked. "God, no. I - I thought this was - I didn't think Moira was _right._ "

"Mom, can I go inside now?" Fabian said faintly. Seeing his mom upset like this seemed to be scaring him, and Aubrey couldn't blame him. Janelle nodded faintly, and he scrambled up the stairs. Janelle slowly lifted her hands and pressed them to either side of her nose, breathing slowly in and out.

Then what she'd said finally caught up to Aubrey. "Hang on," she said. "Moira? You mean - Moira, the ghost, who lives in Amnesty Lodge?"

"Is that where she's at now?" Janelle said into her hands. "Oh, good, I'm glad she's okay. Uh. Gods, Aubrey, this is... really complicated -"

"That's okay," Aubrey said. "If it's about the Ashminder, I want to know. I - I need to know. It's what got Evelyn, and it's hurt almost everyone else, and -"

"Please keep your voice down, Aubrey," Janelle said. She lifted her head from her hands and looked at Aubrey; her eyes were haggard and weary. "Come here. We need to make this quick; you need to go help Mama and Vanessa, and then you have to leave."

"What?"

Janelle beckoned. In the distance, Aubrey heard two gunshots and a yell, as Mama and Vanessa drove the Ashminder down the streets of Sylvain to the gate. The guards in that part of the town seemed to be pitching in; Aubrey sincerely hoped that they were going to be okay. She came closer to Janelle

"Okay," Janelle said softly. "This is. Not information that can stay in Sylvain. It has to leave." She clenched her fist, and opened it; there was a sound like a howling desert wind ruffling the pages of a book, and a leather-bound journal appeared in her hand.

"This isn't mine," she said. "I - I kept it for Moira, when she left Sylvain a few years ago. She was the Minister of the Arcane before me. She's old, and she's been around far longer than any of the current members of the Council - longer than most of the people who still live here today. If she says anything, Aubrey, you must listen to her, because she... she knows her shit."

"Of course," Aubrey said. "That's why I came here, because she asked me to."

"Good," Janelle said. "Take this journal. The most important parts to this are in there somewhere. I can't tell you exactly where."

"Why not?" Aubrey said.

And Janelle's eyes grew even more haunted. "Because I can't remember," she whispered. "I can't remember, and nobody else in Sylvain who has a body can. I know from the records in this journal that something... happened, a long time ago, but nobody except the ghosts who were alive at the time can remember. Woodbridge can," she said sourly, "but he's not sharing anything. Like squeezing mithril from moss. Not going to happen."

"Have you ever tried to tell anyone about the journal?" Aubrey said.

Janelle shook her head. "The... memory was taken from me, too, I suppose," she said faintly. "Fabian's run some numbers on the old palace records; something happened two or three hundred years ago, and everyone who was alive back then can't remember for the life of us what it was. But it's in this journal. I've read it cover to cover, hundreds of times. And it doesn't stick. The words just... slide through. I just know it's important.

"So take this," Janelle said, pressing it to Aubrey's chest. "You need it more than me. You all need it more than me. I hope to whatever gods are listening that you can do something with it. And -"

She paused, and lowered her head. "If you can," she said quietly, "please. Find Evelyn. Find my daughter. Please."

"I will, I swear," Aubrey said, grabbing Janelle's hand and squeezing it. She realized too late that maybe that wasn't the best idea, but Janelle squeezed her hand back. "I - still need that enchantment, though."

Her mentor sniffed and nodded. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. I - hm. I think I have an idea. I'm going to need your sunglasses."

Oh, beans. Aubrey swallowed, slowly reached up, and pulled the glasses off, trying to keep her eyes closed. Janelle took the glasses and drew her fingers across the lenses; they glowed a faint green, and Aubrey saw a shimmering film linger on them long after Janelle removed her hand. She took them back and started to slide them on, still trying to keep her eyes veiled.

"Are you okay, Aubrey?" Janelle said, frowning. "Did you hurt your head or something?"

Aubrey shook her head. "No?"

"Aubrey, look at me," Janelle said.

"Uh."

"Please."

Aubrey swallowed, feeling her heart slamming in her chest, and opened her eyes.

For a moment, it looked like Janelle hadn't noticed anything wrong. Then their eyes locked, and Aubrey saw a wave of something pass over Janelle's face. Something like fear. Something like dread.

"Oh, Aubrey," Janelle said softly

"Yeah, I touched the crystal," Aubrey said awkwardly, feeling as if she had done something deeply, irrevocably wrong. "I'm sorry, I -"

"Don't be sorry, Aubrey," Janelle said, her face pale. She swallowed. "We don't have time to talk about this now," she said. "But - until next time, because so help me there will _be_ a next time, don't take these glasses off. Keep them on when you're in Sylvain. And run."

"What?" Aubrey breathed.

"You need to get out of here, now," Janelle said firmly. She glanced across the courtyard at the city beyond, where Aubrey could hear the sounds of battle. It sounded like they were getting close to the gate. "Don't let them see you. Keep your glasses on, whatever you do. Run!"

And Aubrey did.

She did not look back. If she had, she would have seen Janelle take a deep, shuddering breath and slowly let it out, turning back to the main doors of the castle - where her son was waiting just behind the door. Where her son had heard everything Aubrey had said. She stood still, as if her feet had been frozen in concrete.

"Is it true?" Fabian whispered, his hands digging into the edge of the door. His pale orange eyes were wide, and brimming with tears. "Is Evelyn....?"

After a breath of silence, Janelle slowly shook her head. Fabian's face crumpled, and he rushed into Janelle's waiting arms.

* * *

The dishes in the sink started to rattle.

Jake Cool-Ice looked up from where he'd been scrubbing the same soapy plate, over and over, for the past fifteen minutes. He hadn't even noticed it had happened; time's passage was hard to pin down at night, when he was facing away from the clock. It didn't help that his talk with Stern - if you could call it that - had set a bunch of things loose in his mind that he was still trying to sort through. He scratched his chin and set aside the plate, staring at the rattling dishes with a perplexed frown.

The rattling stopped. Then started again, but fiercer this time. Jake felt a sickening jolt in his stomach and looked through the window above the sink, at the impenetrable darkness beyond. The dim light of the blood moon wasn't enough to shed light on the forest.

There was silence.

Then a great mass of shadow burst out of the trees. Jake yelped and grabbed a spoon, automatically holding it out like a knife, as if it would do any good - but whatever had just leapt out of the woods sprinted past the Lodge and into the woods. As if it was fleeing something.

He stood there in petrified silence, spoon still outstretched, holding it like a torch against the night.

Then he heard the Lodge's door creak open. He dropped the spoon in the sink and raced towards the door. "Mama?" he called out. "That you?”

In the main room of the Lodge, Aubrey, Mama and Vanessa were slumped against each other, out of breath as if they'd all just run a marathon. Aubrey sank onto the couch, coughing. "Hey, Jake," Mama said heavily, leaning on Vanessa. Vanessa herself didn't seem too out of breath, but she still had most of her weight on her staff, which was gently emitting smoke.

"Mama, what's goin' on?" Jake said hesitantly.

"We're fucked," Aubrey said faintly from the couch. "We're fucked, we are _so_ fucked."

"Aubrey's right, I'm afraid," Vanessa said grimly. Her eyes locked on Jake's, and he squirmed; her gaze was always so piercing, as if she was X-raying his soul. It gave him the heebie-jeebies. "The Ashminder followed us into Sylvain and got its hands on the crystal. It has its body back now."

The spoon, which Jake didn't realize he was still holding, clattered to the ground.

"We've gotta kill this fucking thing, sooner or later," Mama said wearily. "At this rate, it's gonna get us all first."

"Meeting tomorrow?" Jake said quietly.

Mama nodded. "Call everyone up," she said. "Leave a message at Duck's place and at the Cryptonomica. Tomorrow morning at nine. We... we've gotta end this. And we have to end this now, before it's too late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so, uh, I accidentally predicted the polar vortex. y'all remember back in chapter 2, when the gang was rescuing indrid from the camper, and they were worried about how bitter cold it was because the windows had frosted over and such? well, apparently, according to some sources it doesn't get quite that cold - on _average._ if something nice and cold like a polar vortex slammed its way through kepler, however, that would more than make the temperature tank. i planned that chapter in fucking _november._ i have no idea how this happened.
> 
> we're officially in the home stretch, y'all! i know i keep saying that, but this is the truth: we have one more chapter left, at the very least, before the final battle, and you _know_ that one's gonna be a doozy. i'm so grateful to all of you for sticking around this long. at last count, this story had 749 kudos and 243 followers, and holy fucking shit, i'm so glad you've all enjoyed the story so far. i can't wait to see what you all think of how it's going to pan out. i'm so excited.
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are appreciated! i cherish every single comment i've gotten; they've gotten me through some tough months lately, and i'm so thankful for all your kind words. thankyoutojohnroderickandthelongwintersfortheuseoftheirsong"it'sadeparture"offthealbumputtingthedaystobed. [swing by my tumblr](https://www.taako-waititi.tumblr.com) and drop me an ask, if you'd like. if you want to and are able to support what I do, there's a link to my ko-fi page in my bio. thank you all so much for reading - i'll see you all on the other side of chapter 14!


	14. The Board is Set

Something was in his house.

Ned heard dishes clank in the sink and jolted awake. He was in his own bed, shoes off, covered with one more blanket than he usually slept with; the weight pressed down, down into his bones, blending with the heavy darkness. He stared unthinking at the ceiling for a few moments. Strangely, he was lying on the left side of the bed, when he usually slept right in the middle, and the yawning void next to him threatened to swallow him whole.

Shadows flickered as someone moved around in the next room. He heard soft jazz music on the radio. His hand crept for the small pistol wedged between his mattress and the headboard. “Hello?” he called out.

There was a sharp clank, somewhat louder than the ones before, as if someone had dropped something. “Ned?” he heard a soft, somewhat strangled voice call. “That you?”

 _Barclay._ What was he still doing here? He sheepishly shoved the pistol back behind the mattress - safety on, of course - and slipped out of bed, hissing as his feet hit the cold floor. The clock on his bedside table read 10:06. “Yeah,” he said, shuffling to the kitchen. “The hell are you doing here?”

In the small kitchenette, Barclay was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the dishes from their impromptu dinner. Oh, yes, their day had lasted far longer than either of them had expected. They’d swapped stories through _Catch Me If You Can,_ through the film adaptation of _Les Miserables,_ through _South Pacific_ and the sixth season of _X-Files_ and all sorts of random things they’d dug out of Ned’s movie cabinet. They’d scrounged up leftovers. Barclay had made scrambled eggs - which Ned was perfectly capable of making himself, thank you very much, but he appreciated the gesture - and the night unwound like an old clock, ticking down.

He must have fallen asleep at some point - because they’d wrapped the last movie around 9:45, and Ned had felt the day - hell, the whole _weekend_ \- dragging on him, so. It was only fair that he fell asleep. But why was Barclay still here?

“You’re still here,” Ned observed.

Jazz played softly on the radio. A Chet Baker song, staticky and slow. Its melody was vaguely familiar, and Ned felt as if there should have been words to go along with it. Barclay nodded. The soapy dishes sloshed a bit, and he winced, pulling his hands out of the sink. “Didn’t want to leave the dishes for ya,” he said quietly.

“You could’ve just dumped ‘em in the dishwasher,” Ned said.

“You were sleepin’ - didn’t want to wake you up with the noise. Can’t party so hard these days, huh, old man?” Barclay dried his hands on a nearby towel and grinned.

Ned’s eyes flickered over the motion of his hands, then darted to the radio. “Yeah,” he said slowly. An automatic, snazzy response tripped off his tongue. “If I’m old, what does that make you?” Jesus, that damn song  - a slow jazzy number, all brushed snares and a muted trumpet in a slow, plodding rhythm - it was getting to him; it made his stomach lurch for reasons he couldn’t quite parse. The world seemed to settle like an old building; and things gently, slowly clicked into place.

It was supposed to have words, this song. He was used to hearing a different version of it - an old Chet Baker tune, with a soft throaty voice over the soft drums and twinkling piano. His mind traced the ebbs and flows of the melody, and the back of his neck started to burn as the words drifted up in his mind. _I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast._ Jesus fucking Christ.

“Ned?”

“You’re still here,” Ned observed again, but quieter, meeting Barclay’s eyes. They gleamed in the kitchen’s half-light, like those of a startled deer. He had stopped drying his hands on the towel. “I - I was in my bed, man, what -”

“You’d fallen asleep on one of the plates,” Barclay whispered. “I - I had to  -”

“Carry me to bed?”

“Get it out - well -”

Ned raised one eyebrow, taking a strange sense of pride in the way Barclay’s eyes glittered nervously. So he had, huh. And Ned wasn’t anywhere on the skinny side, either. He knew that Barclay was stronger than the average human - hell, he’d _seen_ the guy fight the bobcat and wrestle armloads of groceries into the Lodge - but he hadn’t even felt Barclay lift him. Jesus Christ.

His eyes skimmed over Barclay - his beard, his slightly curly hair, the way the light cast the planes of his face into sharp, deep shadow. “You did, huh,” he said quietly, stepping forward. Barclay swallowed, hard; his grip loosened on the dish towel, and it fell. Ned automatically reached for it but missed, and Barclay lurched forward to catch it, and neither of them managed to grab the thing. It smacked wetly on the floor.

“Oops,” Barclay muttered, and bent to pick it up. Ned’s hand was still outstretched, hanging over Barclay’s broad shoulders; as he straightened up again, Ned swallowed and closed the distance. He was aiming for putting a hand on Barclay’s shoulder, but Barclay was _way_ taller than Ned had estimated, and he watched in horror as his hand landed on the small of Barclay’s back.

They stared at each other in silence. The quiet, staticky song was just a whisper in the background, and Barclay’s warmth beneath him set his hand on fire. Ned felt the strange urge to say something, but for the longest time didn’t know what. Then he quietly cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “You gonna head back?”

Barclay was silent for a while. His eyes gleamed darkly in the single light hanging above the sink. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

There was a gentle, twinkling brush of cymbals, and a muted trumpet solo floated through the kitchen. His hand was burning up. “You don’t have to leave,” Ned whispered.

“Really?”

“No.”

The air between them was frozen, crystalline and cold in the deep January chill. Barclay slowly put the dish towel on the counter, and wiped his damp hands on his jeans. The urge for Ned to move that hand further, to loop it around Barclay’s waist, bowled him over like he’d been hit by a truck, and that damn _song_ was still playing, and his feet were starting to cramp on the cold tile but his bed would be so, so warm with that extra blanket that he knew Barclay had put on it -

He began, “Let’s -”

Wind howled over the snow outside. And suddenly, the phone rang.

They jerked apart, so fast that Ned almost staggered into the countertop, and Barclay dove for the phone. “Wait, what the -” Ned began.

“This is the Cryptonomica, how can I help you?” Barclay said. His perfect customer service voice made Ned’s eyebrows fly up. Barclay caught himself and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ - sorry, Jake. I answer the phone at the Lodge all the damn time, okay? Stop laughin’ at me, it’s just an automatic response. Shut up.”

Ned leaned on the countertop and crossed his arms, watching him.

Jake said something that made Barclay laugh softly. “Yeah, yuck it up,” he said. “Not comin’ back to the Lodge tonight. Say a word of that to anyone, and there’ll be flaxseed in all your waffles for a month.” A pause. “Yes, I will.” Another pause, and he sighed. “Oh, they do? Well, that’s fuckin’ wonderful. Way to rub it in. What do you want?”

There was silence in the kitchen for a long, long time. Barclay slowly went still, the longer Jake talked, as if he was made of slowly-solidifying concrete; the tension in his body was nearly painful to look at. “Oh,” he said softly. “Shit.”

Ned wanted to say something, but forced himself to stay silent.

“Nine? That might work,” Barclay said, his eyes flickering briefly towards Ned. He raised his eyebrows, but Barclay’s eyes had drifted off to focus on the refrigerator door. “If Ned’s coming, then - yeah, alright. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

He slowly hung up, as if the phone receiver weighed a thousand pounds.

“What was that about?” Ned said. He prodded the damp dish towel away from the edge of the sink, towards the drying rack in the corner; it was about to slide off the countertop.

“We… ugh,” Barclay muttered. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking blearily at Ned. Damn, he really was tired. “Mama’s calling another meeting. The Ashminder followed ‘em to Sylvain and got its body back.” Ned felt a pain somewhere behind his ribs, as if he’d been slammed into a wall. Or shot. Both of which he was acquainted with. Barclay went on. “She wants us to figure out how to kill it tomorrow, and then…”

“Then that’s it,” Ned said softly. Though what “it” was, he wasn’t quite sure. Standing in the kitchen, the soap bubbles popping silently in the sink under the dim fluorescent light, he wasn’t quite sure what would come after this. If they even succeeded - this hellbeast of an abomination was far worse than anything they’d faced so far. Hell, it had a _body count._ It had a legacy of pain. The Tree was small potatoes compared to this thing. Ned wanted nothing more than to see its horrible red eyes flicker out for good; it had caused too much pain, too much suffering, for him to ever believe it deserved a better fate. This thing had to die.

He sighed, scratched the back of his neck. Barclay was looking very studiously at the stained linoleum. Well. If it did end up coming for him, in the end, at least Ned would have a good memory or two to throw at it.

And maybe he’d live a little longer to make some more.

“It’s getting late,” Barclay said to the floor. “I’m gonna… turn in, I guess.”

“I’m not gonna make you sleep on that couch,” Ned said.

“I’d walk right out of here if you did,” Barclay said, with a soft half-smile. “You spilled soda on it.”

“Only ‘cause you elbowed me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Most things are.”

“Stop that.”

“Sure. Dear.” Barclay, halfway through a face-splitting yawn, choked on air - and Ned realized belatedly that might have not been the best thing to say. “That’s not my point,” he said hastily, and realized that was equally as bad.

“Then what is it?”

There was silence for a long, tense moment in the kitchen. Ned’s hands burned with half-remembered warmth, and he slowly reached out to turn down the radio. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, holding out his hand.

Barclay stared.

“We’ll have to be up early tomorrow,” he said softly. “Come on.”

Barclay flicked off the lights above the sink, and the kitchen was plunged into darkness. But in that dark, Ned felt Barclay’s calloused fingers brush against his own, and they gently interlaced. Barclay’s hands were so, so much bigger than his own.  The jazz was nothing but a soft, staticky whisper.

They slowly drifted down the dark hallway to Ned’s room; Barclay stubbed his toe on the wall, probably because this hallway was unfamiliar, but Ned had a niggling sense deep in his gut that the unfamiliarity wouldn’t last for long. “Should I set an alarm for tomorrow?” Barclay said sleepily, when Ned opened the door.

“Set it for any time earlier than 8:15, dear, and you’re dead to me.”

Barclay chuckled softly, and squeezed his hand.

* * *

Duck’s kitchen was starting to look like the inside of a bulldozed library.

Papers were scattered everywhere - held in place by glasses, stacked on the spare dining chair, shoved a bit too close to the toaster oven. Indrid was scribbling down drawings and words almost faster than he could explain what they were. Duck went digging through his drawers for another legal pad, like the one he had, so Indrid wouldn’t keep tearing pages out of his journal. If the binding was ruined, things would start falling out, and he couldn’t bear to see Indrid lose any of his drawings and notes - he just couldn’t.

Winnie helped immensely by sitting next to the journal and staring into Indrid’s eyes, unblinking. It seemed like she was trying to cheer him up. As Duck walked back into the kitchen with a legal pad, Winnie vaulted off the table and onto the counter. She smacked a box of tea on the counter, and it went skidding towards the edge; Duck caught it before it hit the ground. It was a half-empty box of chamomile tea.

He looked at Winnie. Winnie looked back at him.  “Good idea,” he muttered, and put a couple of mugs of water in the microwave.

At the table, Indrid had torn pages from the legal pad and was scratching out drawings on them, rearranging them on the tabletop like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “So, what have we got?” Duck said, sitting down at the table.

He nudged one of the mugs of chamomile tea towards Indrid, who picked it up and took a cautious sip. “Thanks,” Indrid croaked. He held onto the mug of tea and gestured at the pages with his free hand. “We - we have a nexus, from the looks of it,” he said. “A central event that this all branches off of.”

“Alright, what’s that event?”

“Not sure yet, still trying to figure that out.” Indrid paused for a minute, drumming his fingers on the countertop, and scribbled out another drawing. Duck glanced at it and saw two pairs of glasses, the lenses shaded in. He grimaced and looked down at his tea.

“Okay. Here. Whatever the case is, I - think it hinges on Aubrey,” Indrid said, tapping one drawing.

It took a while for Duck to parse what he was seeing, but after a while he could make out Aubrey’s face. She stood next to a tall woman with a cacophonous cloud of long curly hair; their hands were locked around a great gnarled staff. Their spare arms were outstretched in a “stop” motion, as if they were each holding something back. The other woman was looking away, to something left of frame, and Duck couldn’t make out her face - but Aubrey was facing out of the picture, and Duck’s stomach flipped. Indrid’s quick pen strokes had captured a look of absolute, bone-deep terror on her face.

What was going on here?

“Who’s - wait, who’s that other person - ”

“Vanessa McDougal, a - well, you’ll meet her,” Indrid said, tapping the other woman in the sketch. “I - it’s this moment, I think. The one where everything -” and he gestured at the rest of the drawings on the table. “ - and I mean _everything_ \- can go wrong.”

“Oh,” Duck said faintly.

“Yeah. It’s not ideal,” Indrid said, slumping back in his chair. “We - from the looks of it, it looks like we’re going to fight the thing, but… I don’t have all the details, Duck. I never really do.” He set the mug down and covered his face with both hands. His glasses were skewed, nearly slipping off his face. In that moment, he looked more exhausted than Duck had ever seen him: gaunt and withered, as if the whole world was sucking the life out of him. Indrid’s hand crept around to the back of his neck and he gently rubbed the muscles, wincing.

“I can’t see quite as far ahead as I want to, Duck,” Indrid said softly. “It’s - still all in bits and flashes that I can’t make sense of, and I don’t - I just -” He sighed and slumped forward, putting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Duck,” he said softly. “I just - I don’t know.”

Duck felt a deep twist down in his chest, as if someone had reached in and squeezed his heart, and he put his mug down. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he said, scooting his chair towards Indrid, and wincing when the chair’s legs screeched on the tile. “We’ll figure this out as we go. Okay? You’ve - you’ve already done so much good, man, I don’t even know where to start. You’re doing fine.”

“If you say so,” Indrid said, sounding like he didn’t quite believe him - but that was alright. Duck held out a hand; he meant to loop it around Indrid’s shoulders, to comfort him a little, but Indrid slumped forward and leaned his whole body against Duck’s, and well. That was that.

“This is going to be a bad one,” Indrid said, in that matter-of-fact way that said he was scared out of his mind, looping an arm around Duck’s waist. “I can feel it.”

“I’m with you on that, Indy. But it’s gonna be alright. I hope.”

“That’s all we have these days, I guess. Hope.” Duck hummed wordlessly and tucked Indrid’s head under his chin, looking at the drawings.

His eyes widened. It felt like he’d been slammed in the chest with an anvil. Jesus Christ. All he could do was stare in horror at the pictures laid out on the table, which he hadn’t been able to see up close until now.

In nearly every future that Indrid had scribbled out, someone - or multiple someones - was dead.

Duck knew what it felt like to have lives in his hands, but not like this - not so literal as this. There was a drawing partly wedged under Indrid’s empty plate of spaghetti, as if he wanted to hide it and make it unknown again, that showed Aubrey’s body slumped over a fallen tree. There was another that showed the strange woman - Vanessa - with what looked like a massive, gaping wound in her chest. Fire in the trees, ice in the wind, Ned desperately trying to crawl out of a hole in the ground, Mama pointing a pistol straight ahead out of the drawing with murder in her eyes. Barclay screaming. Duck himself frozen mid-jump, leaping over a body that looked like Dani’s, Beacon held aloft and dripping with dark blood. Jake floating facedown in water.

God. What kind of future was this? What kind of hunt were they going to have when the Ashminder could do _this?_ It wasn’t fair that Indrid had to be the bearer of all this knowledge. It wasn’t fair that he had to keep it all. Duck wished, almost, that he could find a better way to help him - a way to take on some of this pain. There was only so much that Duck could do - and, despite being the Chosen One, Duck had never felt more useless in his life.

Indrid sighed heavily, and tucked his head further under Duck’s chin. His arms looped around his waist. “Duck,” he whispered. His fingers dug painfully into Duck’s side. “I - think it’s back.”

His stomach lurched again. “Oh, no.”

“It’s far away, but it’s back,” Indrid said. “I can feel its presence, back in Kepler. It’s not anywhere near us, but it’s - it’s back. Where did it go?”

“I don’t know, man, I don’t know.” Duck felt a lump swell in his throat and held Indrid a little bit closer. He closed his eyes. This had to be enough, he thought. It had to. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do.

The phone in Duck’s bedroom rang.

“Shit, hold on,” Duck said, patting Indrid’s back. They quickly untangled themselves. “I’ll get it.” Indrid nodded wordlessly and turned back to his drawings - but Duck felt his eyes follow him all the way out of the room. He made a beeline for the phone and picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Duck?” said Jake Cool-Ice’s tentative voice.

“Oh - hey, Jake, what’s up?”

“Yeah, uh - we got a problem,” Jake said. A strong sense of foreboding settled in Duck’s stomach like a bad burrito. “Mama and Aubrey and, uh - Vanessa, they all just got back from Sylvain, and. Um. The Ashminder got its body back.”

Duck had to grab the bedside table. The sketches flashed through his mind again: Vanessa, injured; Aubrey slumped over a log; someone floating facedown in a pool of water. Blood in the snow. Oh, God. Indrid was right. Not that Duck was going to dispute that, but still, Jesus _Christ -_

“Mama’s callin’ it,” Jake was saying quietly. “We’re gonna have a meeting tomorrow morning at 9, and we’re gonna try and kill it tomorrow. It’s… it’s bad. It’s really bad.” There was a tremor in his voice that seemed the fault of a deeper, darker fear - of a dark memory. Duck wondered if the Ashminder had ever gotten him, the first time around, and immediately tried to crush the thought. “It got its hands on the main crystal in Sylvain and - the energy, it was able to reform its body off of that, and… yeah, Duck, it’s not lookin’ up.”

“Man, you’re right about that,” Duck sighed. “Jesus. So, we’re meeting tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Jake cleared his throat. “Also - uh - ‘fore I forget, I talked to Stern this morning, and I was gonna, uh, tell you what I figured out.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I got some stuff out of him. Turns out, he _had_ been snoopin’ around Indrid’s camper that day you found him,” Jake said. Duck pinched the bridge of his nose. “But, uh - Indrid has, or had, some kind of trap set up on his camper, I guess. If anyone tried to get in that he didn’t approve of, the spell in the trap would launch them as far away from the camper as possible. Stern tripped that trap and got launched through the trees into the river.”

“Oh, _ouch.”_

“Yeah, and that was why he came back frozen half to death last week,” Jake said. “So there’s that mystery solved. That was all I wanted to ask him about, I guess. Thought you might wanna pass that along to Indrid or somethin’.”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s good, thanks for lettin’ me know,” Duck said, scratching the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the kitchen; it was silent. “Yeah, uh - it’s gettin’ late, I’m gonna go. Thanks for callin’ me.”

“Sure thing, Duck,” Jake said quietly. And God, if that didn’t sound wrong, him being so quiet. “See you tomorrow.”

“See ya. Stay safe.”

“Will do. ‘Bye.”

Jake hung up. Duck slowly put down the receiver and went back to the kitchen. Indrid was staring down at the drawings laid out on the table, his gaze flickering between one by his elbow and another he was trying to complete. He had one hand on it, holding it in place while he drew, but Duck couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“We got another meeting tomorrow morning,” Duck said.

“I heard,” Indrid said, not looking up.

“Do you - uh, do you wanna stay with Leo again?”

The drawing that Indrid was working on suddenly crumpled in his hand.

“Uh -”

“No,” Indrid said, and looked up. There was a defiant set to his jaw, and an apprehensive look in his eyes, and as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will, he said, “I’m coming with you this time.”

Duck tried to meet his eyes, but almost couldn’t do it. Indrid’s eyes were wide and almost frightened. Uncertain. “You - are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been, Duck,” Indrid said grimly. “I - couldn’t stay there before, and it’ll only be there for a short while, but…” He gestured at the drawings on the table. “They need to know what I’ve seen,” he said quietly. “They need to know the possibilities. I didn’t do that for them last time, and doing it now is the least I could… it’s the least I could do, Duck.”

“It - yeah, I guess,” Duck said uncertainly, scratching his head. “But - and I’m not saying this is a bad idea and all -”

“It kind of sounds like you are,” Indrid said.

“Yeah - no - okay, sorry, but. Uh. Are you sure you want to go back there, and talk to - talk to them? It didn’t go so well last time.”

“I’m going to have to,” Indrid said. He swallowed, hard. “I know that things between me and Dani, and the rest of the Lodge, are kind of… frigid, let’s say, but can’t just sit here. Because - look.” He thumbed through the drawings and pulled one out, pushing it towards Duck.

His breath froze in his lungs.

“I can’t hide anymore, Duck,” Indrid said. “It’s going to be on our doorstep soon enough.”

Drawn in surprising detail - enough that Duck could tell exactly what was in the drawing - was a vast lake, with a hill looming in the background. Refuge Hill. Lake Fisher. Both of which could be seen out the back window of Duck’s apartment.

“It’s gonna come here?” he breathed.

Indrid nodded solemnly. “One way or another, it will,” he said heavily. “And there’s no way I can think of to stop it. In the - fragments I saw earlier, all the futures where we decided to fight it away from Refuge Hill went completely, irrevocably south. We can’t hide from it for much longer.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah. I have to tell them,” Indrid said, and took a deep breath. “And they have to hear it from me.”

The heaviness of his voice made it sound like he was headed off to an executioner - and God, Duck didn’t like this one bit, but he knew that Indrid was right. Or, at least, he _wanted_ Indrid to be right. The uncertainty of the future, laid out before him like a misty forest path, was making him nearly nauseous.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’ll do that tomorrow.”

Indrid nodded once, looking down at the table and his crumpled drawing. He gently flicked the balled-up paper towards the center of the table, and stood up with his mug of chamomile tea. For a moment he was still, staring down into the mug, as if he was reading his fortune in the leaves - which was impossible, it was the bagged shit, but still -

“Bed?” Duck said.

Indrid nodded once. Then he quickly, almost nervously, leaned down and pressed a kiss to Duck’s cheek. A warm, squishy feeling rose up in Duck’s chest suddenly, like rising bread dough. “Sounds good,” he said, and skittered off to the bedroom.

Despite the events of the past few days, it was still  hard to believe that this was… something. That they were something. Duck gathered up their dishes and put them in the sink - he’d deal with them tomorrow - and idly scratched Winnie’s ears. She purred. Despite knowing what was coming in the days ahead, he felt a strange sense of peace wash over him, a sense of warmth.

He looked down the short hall and saw Indrid making himself at home in Duck’s bedroom - he had changed out of Duck’s borrowed jeans and belt, putting on those same plaid sweatpants. Duck saw him stack his drawings carefully on the bedside table and place his glasses delicately on top of them. He took a deep, rib-aching breath and slowly let it out. He would see Indrid’s eyes tonight.

The paper Indrid had crumpled up was still lying in the center of the table, illuminated under the ceiling light like an actor on a stage. He carefully unfolded it and frowned.

Scribbled on the yellow legal pad page were two hands, one reaching down and the other reaching up. In the bottom left of the page was what looked like an explosion of light, surrounding a tangle of wings and arms like an eldritch drawing of an angel. A strange sense of deja vu passed over him.

Duck carefully folded the drawing up and stuck it in his pocket, before following Indrid back to the bedroom. This could wait. He’d have time to figure it out tomorrow morning. A gust of wind gently rattled the windows, and he walked to his bedroom a little quicker than usual.

* * *

After Jake hung up, the front room of Amnesty Lodge was silent for a long, tense moment. Aubrey stared at the ceiling from her place on the couch; it swam and blurred in front of her eyes. God, she was tired. That fireball, the one that had almost gotten out of control - it had taken a lot out of her.

“So,” Vanessa said quietly. “We should head to bed.”

“I guess,” Mama sighed. Aubrey heard the telltale sound of her shrugging off her duster and hanging it up on the coat rack, the keys for her truck jangling in the pocket. “God.”

“Wait.”

Moira’s sudden voice startled them all. Aubrey forced herself to sit up, peering over the back of the couch as Moira drifted through a wall. “Moira?” she said.

Moira nodded gravely at her. “Aubrey,” she said. “You went to Sylvain?”

“Yeah - I did, and I talked to Janelle, and -”

“Oh, you did?” Moira sounded surprised, as if she hadn’t expected Aubrey to actually do anything. “That’s… good. Did you get a tracking spell?”

Her hand drifted to her pocket, where Moira’s old journal - “Yeah, sure. Uh - Janelle gave me your journal.” She pulled it out of her pocket. “You know about things that happened back then, that are written in here. Why didn’t you tell us, before we left?”

If it was possible for a ghost, Moira had gone even paler. “Where did you get that,” she breathed, staring at the journal. “Aubrey, where -”

“Janelle gave it to me?” Aubrey said. “I, uh - she said there was stuff in it we needed to know?”

“The vast majority of that journal is private,” Moira said snippily, wringing her hands. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off it.

“Shit, really? But what - what is it?”

“It’s - goodness gracious, it was my personal journal, back when I was Minister of the Arcane,” Moira said softly. Mama muttered something that sounded like, “Of course she was,” and took the journal from Aubrey’s hands. Moira made a faint sound of protest.

“So you know what’s in it?”

“Of course, I -”

“Then how come you didn’t just tell me?” Aubrey demanded. “I - I mean, I didn’t go to Sylvain to get this from Janelle, that just sort of… happened, but if it’s important and you know what’s in it, why didn’t you tell me before I left?”

Moira took a deep breath and said softly, “Because I didn’t want to know what would happen if I was wrong.”

Aubrey knew, somehow, that she was speaking from a deep and terrible experience, and said nothing. Moira looked at the journal again, and seemed to gather herself before saying, “My mind is… decaying, Aubrey. My time as a ghost is almost up. I cannot trust my own memories, and I would not like to, because if there is even the slightest chance of me being wrong… it could be catastrophic. That journal has more information than I could ever give you. Read it.”

Her ghostly cheeks darkened slightly, as if she was blushing, and she looked pointedly at the book. “Perhaps just the last ten pages. Those are… the most pertinent.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Mama said slowly, squinting at the first couple of pages. She lifted her eyes to meet Moira’s, and Aubrey saw a strange, detached surprise in her face, as if she had just read that the sky was green. “Thank you,” she said at last.

“You’re welcome,” Moira said, with a slight nod. “Hold on to that. I wish you all the best of luck. And I’m not kidding, please, leave everything alone in that journal except the last ten or so pages. Do me that favor, at the very least.” Without another word, she drifted through the wall and was gone. Aubrey watched as Mama drifted to her office, Vanessa - still holding her staff and wearing her coat - following close behind.

The moment the door closed behind them, she staggered off the couch and went down the hall to Dani’s room. “Hey, Dani,” she whispered, pushing open the door. “You up?”

Dani was sitting on her bed, thumbing idly through a book. Aubrey noticed that it was upside down. Dani immediately set it down and sat up when Aubrey came through the door. “Yeah,” she said. “You - oh, jeez, are you okay?”

“Tired as hell, but yeah,” Aubrey sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Dani hummed softly and scooted to the edge of the bed, sitting beside her. “We had a rough time in Sylvain.”

“Oh?”

“The Ashminder followed us through and, uh…” Dani’s face was slowly growing more and more pale. “It got its body back.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dani whispered.

“Yeah - Mama, Janelle, Vanessa and I beat it to hell, but Woodbridge, he wouldn’t let us kill it on Sylvan soil. Said something about it not being their jurisdiction, or whatever the fuck.”

“Typical,” Dani said feebly.

Aubrey felt a brief stab of guilt for piling all of this on Dani, and hesitantly reached for her pocket. “I, uh.” She swallowed. “I talked to your mom.”

Dani nodded wordlessly, and stared at the floor.

“And Fabian.”

Her head jerked up.

Aubrey smiled faintly, and pulled the bundle of letters out. Dani’s eyes fixed on them, and a hunger entered her eyes - but she didn’t reach out and take them. As if she thought they were going to vanish the moment her fingers touched them. “I ran into him right outside Janelle’s office,” Aubrey said. “Literally - he wasn’t watching where he was going, and crashed right into me. Books, papers, all over the place.” Dani choked out a soft little laugh, and her eyes seemed like they were watering. “He gave these to me? And told me to give them to - to you -”

Her words were cut off by a massive, jaw-aching yawn. “Shit, sorry -”

“No, it’s okay,” Dani said softly. She slowly took the letters from Aubrey. “Do you want to get some sleep?”

“Maybe.” Aubrey sighed and put her head on Dani’s shoulder. “Do you want to read the letters and stuff, or go to bed?”

Dani stared down at the bundle of letters for a long moment, as if she was afraid they would disappear the moment she looked away. “I,” she began. She cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I - I haven’t heard from my brother since I left Sylvain in the ‘50s. This is… This is the closest I’ve been to him in years.”

Aubrey gently patted Dani’s shoulder; Dani gave her a watery smile and wiped her eyes. “Alright,” she said quietly. “We can read them together.” Dani nodded slowly and tugged on the string binding the small package together. As the string fell off, the envelopes expanded to their original size.

Aubrey knew they weren’t going to be able to make it through the first letter without crying. It was addressed to both Dani and Evelyn. This was… this was going to hurt.

“He… he doesn’t know, does he,” Dani said softly. Aubrey shook her head, as Dani pried the letter open. “I’m glad he still remembers her, though.”

Aubrey frowned.

Dani looked at her. “That last fight,” she said. “At - Indrid’s camper.” Her grip tightened on the envelope, and it started to crumple. “I… I’ve given every memory of Evelyn away, except the facts,” she whispered. “I had a sister, her name was Evelyn, and I loved her very much, and that’s all I know anymore.”

“Dani…” She tried her best to squeeze Dani’s hand, but the way she was holding the letters made it almost impossible.

“I’m just - if - at least Fabian still has all those good memories of her, from back in Sylvain,” Dani said, her voice choked up. She squeezed Aubrey’s hand again, pulling out the rest of the parchment. “I’ll - it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Aubrey said softly. “If you - if you ever need to stop, we can, and there’s nothing wrong with that, okay?” Dani nodded.

They didn’t.

They stayed up late into the night, peeling open Fabian’s letters and reading them over each other’s shoulders. Fabian was just a kid when Dani and Evelyn were exiled, which Aubrey didn’t know - around the Sylvan equivalent of eight or nine years old. Going through the letters, she saw how Fabian’s handwriting grew and changed: from chicken scratch, to carefully neat and rounded letters, and back to chicken scratch that was still just barely legible. She remembered the smudges of ink on his hands; some things never seemed to change.

In each letter, Fabian wrote to his sisters like they were there. _Dad let me try some of those cookies you two always used to make. He burnt them a little, but they were good with milk and stuff. Yours are better._

Or: _I hung out in Mom’s office today. I got to yell at Woodbridge today because he phased through me without watching where he was going, and that wasn’t cool. Vincent thought it was hilarious._

Or: _I miss you guys._

_I miss you. I still don’t understand why you guys are gone and I have to stay._

_I miss you._

That, of all things, was always the same from letter to letter. Dani’s fingers brushed over that sentence every time it showed up, before setting the paper aside like it was made of ice and would melt if she focused on the words too long. “He’s happy,” she said softly, and it was both a statement and a question.

“Yeah,” Aubrey said. “He’s… he’s happy.” She looked down at the letter in her hand, one from when he was around eleven in human years. Fabian said that he wanted to be a writer. Aubrey was reminded, strangely, of standing in a living room in a too-large top hat and makeshift cape. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and reached for the next letter in the stack.

The letters kept growing, changing. They grew thicker and Fabian’s voice - once childlike, happy, tinged with loneliness - grew more confused. Aubrey could see the gears turning in his mind, as time went on. He was just figuring out how the world worked, and damn, he was _pissed._

_They keep sending more soldiers off to the walls to fight back the Quell. I’m not sure why - Mom won’t tell me anything - and I don’t know why they think that’ll help. Nobody knows why they’re out there._

_The Interpreter died last night; his daughter Alexandra’s the new one. I don’t know if you remember her, she was born a little after you two left. It was a really tough ceremony to watch. She’s almost forty years younger than me - how come they’re making her do this? Is it really necessary? Mom’s still not telling me anything._

_I can’t stand this. I’m so sick of war._

_School’s less ‘school’ now and more propaganda machine._ This was scrawled on a slightly thinner sheet of paper with lines - basically Sylvan notebook paper. As if he was writing this in a hurry, in secret. _Only government or military are promoted as good jobs. Has been since the Quell started to flourish. No changes._

_I found a journal in Mom’s library, but it was weird - I read it, but none of the words… stuck. I could remember picking it up and looking at the words, but I can’t remember for the life of me what they said. I’d ask Mom about it, but it was hidden behind two massive books I had to use two hands and a lightening spell to move. Probably not the best idea._

There was a change. Towards the end of the letters, when he hit the equivalent of 14 or 15 years old, Aubrey saw his words change, have a life of their own. Something about the way they unfolded made something in her chest crush like a crumpled soda can, and she felt her eyes sting. Fabian wanted change; he wanted to learn why things were the way they were; he wanted to learn how; he wanted to _change_ it.

 _This is going to do it,_ he said, in the last letter. Aubrey and Dani held it between them so they could both read. _They let me graduate early - which was great, I guess - but only if I agreed to be the court scribe. Guess all those research papers on Sylvain’s history paid off. Either that, or they started getting suspicious of how in-depth they were getting, and needed to keep an eye on me - but either way, I’m fine with that development. I’ll have Mom and her whole library on my side._

_I’m just. Dani, Evelyn, I’m so tired of this. Sylvain’s population is shrinking every month, people are getting sick. Dad almost couldn’t get out of bed to go to the crystal this morning. I’m taking the job, even though it hasn’t been filled for literally two hundred years and nobody really knows what to do anymore - but it’s the best option I’ve got._

_I’m not living in a world I want to_ live _in, you know? But I’m going to try and make one._

_I miss you guys. I hope you can come back home soon. Things might be looking up. I love you both so much._

It was signed, like all the most recent ones, with just his name and a small heart at the end.

Aubrey stared down at the ink-splotched parchment, not sure what to think or say. These words almost didn’t match up with the small, excited boy she’d crashed into outside the elevator - but she could believe it. Under the smudged ink and bright grin and messy hair was a cold, hard spine of steel. Destroying the system from the inside out, however he could. God, he was amazing, and - and strong, just like his sister and his mom.

Dani slowly let go of the letter and gathered the rest in her lap, taking great care to arrange them into a neat stack. Aubrey rubbed her eyes and took a moment to try and pull herself together; she could feel something burning deep in her chest, tears threatening to break through.

When she finally looked up, Dani was crying.

She held the letters to her chest and cried, nearly silently, the force of her sobs making her shoulders lurch. The papers crumpled under her hands. That burning feeling deep in Aubrey’s chest turned into something sharp and painful, and Fabian’s letter fluttered out of her hands. before she knew it, her arms were around Dani and the letters had fallen to the ground. Dani buried her face in Aubrey’s shoulder and just cried; all Aubrey could do was rub her back and try to soothe her, and wait for the tears to end.

There’d been no way to avoid this - but Aubrey wished she’d known what Fabian was going to say, wished she’d been honest to him up-front about what was going on. When she read the _Dear sisters_ at the top of every letter, it was like she’d been stabbed in the chest. She could nearly feel the homesickness radiating off Dani, as she shook and cried in her arms.

“I miss them,” Dani sobbed. “I miss them so fucking _much.”_

“I know,” Aubrey said softly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

It wasn’t long before her own tears started to fall. Dani cried for a world she could never return to, a family she could never see again. And Aubrey, she cried too, for this broken family and their shattered world - and she hoped beyond hope, to whatever gods may have been listening, that Dani didn’t forget the family she had left. God, she hoped Dani would remember.

* * *

_His name is Alastor._

Mama stared down at Moira’s journal. Slowly, she reached for the gooseneck lamp on her desk and angled it towards the book. Moira’s chicken-scratch was hard to read in the shadows - which was to be expected, if all she could write with were spectral hands.

_His name is Alastor, and he is the Scribe of the High Court of Sylvain. And I am in the unfortunate position of being rather well acquainted with him._

“Hey, Vanessa,” Mama said softly.

Across the room, Vanessa made a vague noise of acknowledgement. She was stretched out, catlike, across the sofa in Mama’s office, legs straight out and crossed at the ankles. “Yes?”

“Did you - did you know, by any chance, a fella named ‘Alastor’ while you were in Sylvain?”

Vanessa shook her head, staring at the ceiling. She was tired out of her mind. Mama wanted to tell her to leave, to go take a soak in the springs or a hot shower, and get some rest after the magical ordeal of today - but somehow she knew that Vanessa would not listen to her. She’d only go of her own free will. Lord knew she had a hell of a lot of that left to spare.

“No,” Vanessa said. “Can’t say that I have. It’s not a common name, I’m sure I would have heard it before, but… no.”

“Nothin’?”

“No.”

“Hm. Alright.” Mama looked back down at the page, trying to find her place again.

After a long while of flipping through pages, she slowly set the journal down and put her head in her hands.

“You read it?”

Moira’s sudden voice made Mama jump, her office chair skidding across the floor. “Jesus Christ,” she hissed, staring at Moira, who had floated through the wall next to her bookshelf. “Yeah, God almighty, Moira, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” said Moira, not sounding sorry at all. She drifted gingerly towards one of the chairs across from Mama’s desk and made a big show of sitting down, neatly arranging her skirt on her lap. Mama watched her, something strange and bitter curling in the back of her throat like bile.

“So,” she said simply. “You knew. You knew what that thing was, this whole time, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, I swear,” Moira said, shaking her head. “Not until I saw Stern’s notes. Similar things happened in Sylvain, before I had to leave; people that his powers affected -”

“Stop.”

Moira recoiled.

Mama looked her dead in the eye and said, “We’re not fighting ‘him’ anymore. It’s not even a ‘him,’ it’s an ‘it.’ Show me a conscience, show me some semblance of understanding of right and wrong in its nasty fuckin’ skull, and then maybe I’ll change my mind. But whoever you might’ve known, or - or whatever the fuck, that ain’t him anymore.”

“I know,” Moira said, in a small voice.

“Do you?”

“I - well, I don’t -”

“He can’t be saved,” Mama said. She tapped the journal and said, “If what you put down in here is any way accurate, he ain’t comin’ back. Jesus, Moira. That ain’t even him in there anymore.”

Moira looked like she’d been doused in cold water.

“And the point still stands,” Mama said, “that the Ashminder killed Evelyn and a couple dozen others, and destroyed the minds of nearly everyone left. Or are you just conveniently forgettin’ that?”

“I’m not,” Moira said in a small voice.

“Sounds an awful lot like you are, honestly.”

“I’m not,” Moira repeated, slightly louder. She swallowed. “I - was just curious. I didn’t even suspect it was him until I saw the notes Stern had left on his desk; they reminded me of the way some people… behaved, after - that,” she said, waving vaguely at the journal. “And even before… it was too similar to be a coincidence, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. There’s so much I don’t know anymore.”

“Right. Right. Mind decayin’ and time almost up, no crystal, I got that,” Mama said.

Moira’s mouth thinned, and she glanced away, eyes focused on the jar of pens on the desk. “And… I’m wondering,” she said, “how deep that might go.”

Mama raised her eyebrows.

Moira’s eyes darted back to Mama. “I’m worried about them,” she said softly. “The ones who’ve survived. If the only way to win is through giving up memories… how much can they give before they’re not _them_ anymore?”

“That,” Mama said, just as softly, “is a very dangerous question to ask anyone, Moira. But especially me.”

Moira cringed.

“I know, better than anyone, what happens when someone loses their memories. You ain’t yourself anymore; you don’t have the same experiences, the same life, to back you up. Think ‘bout what happened to Jake, for Christ’s sake, Moira! He lost most of his life - was like a scared little kid when we got ‘im conscious again. Sure, you might have life in your body and a brain in your skull, but if that goddamn thing gets its talons in you for too long, you’re a blank slate.” She felt her throat closing up with anger and grief, and saw Moira’s face growing slowly more terrified, but she knew that she was far past the point of giving a damn. “Remember Evelyn, Moira?”

“Yes,” she said shakily. “I - God, Mama, I’m sorry, I  - didn’t think before I asked -”

“You sure didn’t,” Mama said, through gritted teeth. On the couch, Vanessa stirred in her sleep. Mama sighed and slumped back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose.

After a long silence, Moira spoke up again. “Are… are you going to tell them about this?”

Mama did not speak for a long time; she just looked down at the journal, at the way the light from her lamp played off its worn leather and metal clasp, until her anger finally started to ebb. “I… think so,” she said slowly. She glanced up at Moira, who looked surprised. “I didn’t tell ‘em - Aubrey, Duck, Ned - I didn’t tell ‘em about what happened in ‘98. Aubrey and Duck found out on their own, and I bet Barclay’s told Ned by now. I… didn’t think it was my story to tell at the time. I didn’t have the right.”

“Well,” Moira said, “maybe you didn’t. But you have to tell them now.”

“No kidding. That’s why… Jesus,” Mama sighed, putting her head in her hands. “We’re gonna have a meeting tomorrow. One last update before we put this thing in the ground, because now that it has its body back, we’re back at square one. It was strong enough to wipe hundreds of years of memories from Morgan, back in the day when it had its body. God knows what it can do now.”

“Yeah,” Moira said. She nodded silently, looking down on the journal. “If you need any help planning what to say,” she said slowly, “I might be able to… help you out.”

Mama looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You can’t tell them everything,” Moira said.

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because if they know what - who - the Ashminder used to be, they - they won’t stop,” she said quietly. Her hands clenched into fists on top of her translucent skirt. “They might even take it straight to Sylvain. They - there might be war.”

“I’d like to think they’re a bit more capable of rational thought than that, Moira,” Mama said.

“Can you really say that?”

“I can, yeah. Is this a question of ‘safety’ or ‘shame,’ here?” Mama said. As she expected, Moira did not answer. “Right. So, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna cut out whatever involvement you had with this - this character, alright? I skimmed the journal, I know y’all were thick as thieves.”

“Okay,” Moira said, in a small voice. “That’s - that’s what I was worried about, thank you.”

“Of course,” Mama said. “That’s what I figured. But we… can’t make a grave without some diggin’, Moira, we’re gonna have to say some shit. I’ll leave you out of it and give them the Sparknotes version. They still need to know the truth.”

“I’m not arguing against that,” Moira said. She glanced across the office at Vanessa, who was still sleeping on the couch. “Lord knows I’m not.” With one hand, Mama slowly closed the journal; its pages fluttered shut like the wings of a dying moth.

* * *

By 8:30 the next morning, Duck and Indrid got into the forest service truck and headed out across Kepler, which was still struggling to wake up this early in the morning. The roads were more-or-less plowed, but he still took care to drive slowly; Indrid was balancing a travel mug of coffee and an accordion folder full of last night’s sketches in his lap. One patch of ice and there’d be a slurry of coffee-soaked paper all over the truck’s floor. And that would just… be that.

Indrid held out the travel mug. Duck wordlessly grabbed it and took a sip.

The lights in the Lodge were still on. They pulled into the driveway and parked between Mama’s truck and Ned’s Snowcat, which was covered in mounds of snow, as if Ned gotten the latest of late starts and hadn't bothered to clean off the thing before trekking across town in it. Damn, that would have been a sight to see. Duck held onto the travel mug and waited by the back of the truck for Indrid to get out.

A distant wind howled over the mountains, and stirred the branches. Indrid clutched his journal and the accordion folder of sketches to his chest, as if he was holding onto a small child. He was cocooned in the same old coats, scarves, and snow pants that he'd left the Lodge in.

"Still want to go?" Duck said quietly.

Indrid nodded once. "Yeah," he said. He clutched the drawings even tighter. "Yeah. We're going." Duck put a hand on Indrid's arm and squeezed, trying to comfort him as much as he could. It hadn't even been two days since they had fled the Lodge - and now, Indrid was willingly going back, even though it was the last place he wanted to be. God, he was braver than Duck could ever be.

The front door was unlocked. The clouds churned overhead, promising even more snow, and Duck and Indrid hurried inside. They almost immediately ran into Aubrey and Dani, heading from the dining room to their secret headquarters down below. Dani looked like she’d been crying recently; her eyes were still red and her hair messed up, and Aubrey was holding her hand. Aubrey waved subtly at both of them, but Dani didn’t even look their way.

Ned and Barclay were already in the basement along with Jake; Barclay was sitting in an armchair with his eyes closed, and Ned was standing behind him with one arm braced on the chair, examining the whiteboard from a distance. They both looked well rested, though a bit tired; Ned’s fingers drummed a slow rhythm on the back of the chair. He glanced over as Duck and Indrid, as they came down the stairs, and his eyebrows flew up. Duck nodded once and sat next to Aubrey, who was acting as a kind of buffer between the two of them and Dani. It didn’t surprise him that Indrid took the chair to his right, as far away from Dani as possible.

And above them, the floorboards slowly creaked, as if someone was taking their sweet time making their way downstairs. Duck heard the thumping of a cane on the stairs, and Mama’s voice asking quietly, “You alright for this stretch?”

“Mothman.” Duck whipped around.

“Alright,” Mama said, as Agent Stern clunked down the last couple of steps into the underground base, leaning on an old metal cane and wearing an _extremely_ loud knit sweater. Duck was reminded painfully of the sweaters his own father would wear around the holidays; he hadn’t spoken to the man in years, not since his parents moved out of Kepler, and the sight stirred some old half-buried memories that he’d thought he’d pushed down.

Not to mention the sight of Stern himself. Jesus Christ, the fact that they were related kept swooping in out of nowhere to punch him in the gut. He wondered if anyone else had found that bit out.

As Stern stepped carefully off the stairs and into their secret room, a wave of panic swept over everyone. “Wait, what the fuck?” Aubrey said, half standing up. “What’s he doing here? Why -”

“Easy, it’s alright,” Mama said, heading for her chair at the front of the room. “Stern… sorta figured it out, sorta got told. He knows the whole jig.” Barclay hissed something under his breath and put his head in his hands. Stern looked more than a little sheepish. “Don’t blame him, since he got his memories chomped on by the very thing we’re tryin’ to kill. But at the end of the day, we got him on our side. He wants it dead just as much as we do.”

Stern nodded once.

“And can we trust him to not go running off to the FBI, first chance he gets?” Ned said suspiciously. “Full offense, Stern, but we don’t exactly have a lot of reasons to trust you.”

“I could say the same about you, Ned, and we’re still keepin’ you around,” Mama said. Ned made a faintly offended noise, but waved it off. “I’m not happy ‘bout it either, but we’re runnin’ short on time. We’re gonna have to change things up a bit. We need a new M.O.”

“Hang on, how come?” Aubrey said, frowning.

Mama sighed heavily. Before she could say anything, the door at the top of the stairs opened and closed again; Duck stared as a tall red-haired woman in a thick turtleneck sweater and combat boots marched down the stairs. Her sweater was rolled up to her elbows; Duck saw sleeves of intricate tattoos streaming up and down her arms, and even onto her hands. “Right, yeah - for those of y’all who don’t know,” Mama said, looking around the room, “this is Vanessa. She’s an old friend of the Lodge, I’ve known her for a fair few years.”

Aubrey gave Vanessa a small wave; the woman smiled faintly at her, her dark eyes darting around the room. Her gaze landed on Duck for a few seconds, and he felt for a brief moment like he was going to get told off - but then she nodded once and went to stand in the corner. He exhaled, relieved for a reason he couldn’t quite explain.

“Vanessa, Aubrey and I went to Sylvain the other night,” Mama went on. “While we were there, as y’all know, the Ashminder got its body back, and… things didn’t go so hot. And while we were there, Aubrey got a journal off of Janelle that had some information in it.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Barclay muttered. “That was a good move, though. Did it have any useful information, or…?”

“That remains to be seen,” Vanessa said, a sour twist to her mouth. She had a slight Scottish accent. “We’ll definitely have to change our M.O. a bit, considering it used to be a Sylph.”

There was an explosion of panic in the room. Duck felt as if he’d been doused in icy water; Minerva’s words from last night echoed through his mind. _Some from that world went, well,_ feral, _for lack of a better word..._  Aubrey looked like she was going to keel over from shock, one hand pressed to her mouth. Barclay just stared. Indrid’s file folder fell out of his hands and hit the ground. “What?” he said, ignoring everyone’s stares. “Vanessa, say that again.”

“It used to be a Sylph,” Mama said wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jesus, Vanessa, I was tryin’ to break it easy to ‘em and not drop it like that -”

“It had to be said, and it had to be said soon,” Vanessa said.

“But it’s - it was a _Sylph,”_ Ned said, aghast. “We can’t just - what’s the story there, how the hell did it happen?”

“It - it used to be the court scribe.” Dani made a choking sound. “Some kind of nigh-omniscient being, who could look at people’s memories of events at will and write ‘em down, to get a ‘bigger picture’ of everything. Was real good at its job, too. Well, one day it went a little too far,” Mama said heavily. “Y’all know that Sylvain’s goin’ through some troubles, right? With folks outside the city walls, tryin’ to get in and get to the crystal?”

They nodded.

“Well, it got a bit too curious while tryin’ to make records, went into enemy lines, got infected by… whatever the hell makes the abominations what they are, went berserk inside the city, and erased the whole city’s memory of its existence. Consumed ‘em. That just… made its mind too unstable, and it escaped into our world, ‘round the turn of the 18th century or so.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s been out here for three hundred years?” Aubrey sputtered. She had an iron grip on Dani’s hand; Dani herself looked faintly sick. “How the hell did it survive that long?”

“Lord knows,” Mama said heavily. “It’s had time to grow, get powerful. Use it skills more. Explains why it was able to nuke Stern’s brain so quickly.” In his chair in the corner, Stern looked up, startled. “Guessin’ it was draining his immediate memories, and then… then he started thinkin ‘bout Indrid, for whatever reason,” Mama said, gesturing at Indrid, “and that memory started getting tugged on. Then Duck bodyslammed him into that dumpster, and broke off the process, and it just… messed somethin’ up. I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist.”

“Jane’s girlfriend Renee is one, kinda,” Duck mumbled. Indrid gently patted his shoulder.

“Whatever the case is, it’s… not what it was before,” Mama went on. “I still don’t know what the difference between the Ashminder and a regular abomination is - or if there even is one at all, and I hope for all our sakes there is one - but we’ve got to put it in the ground regardless.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Barclay said heavily. “We don’t - it’s got its body back, Mama. We’re fucked. Now it’s got teeth, and claws, and even touching it will fuck us up -”

“Well, hang on,” Vanessa said. Everyone’s eyes darted to her. Ned looked lost, like he was watching a high-speed tennis match, and Duck could relate. God, this was so far out of his, Ned’s, and Aubrey’s league that it was sickening. “We know some things. And Mama and I fought it right after it got its body back. It’s not a fan of water, and it _definitely_ doesn’t like fire.”

“She’s got that right,” Aubrey said faintly. Duck remembered Indrid’s camper going up in flames, the angry Ashminder writhing in the smoke, and swallowed.

“And now that we know it’s got some Sylvan quirks to it,” Mama said, “that helps us a lot. It might be able to sense magic; might be able to see invisible spells or traps. We might have to rely purely on the physical, if its magic-sight is better than its physical one. It’s been a fair few years since we’ve had to fight it in physical form, so… we’ll have to pull out the old notes on that.”

She took a deep breath and sighed, staring at the floor. They all watched her in terrified, uncertain silence. For a long while, Mama did not speak, as if she was lost in thousands of memories. Duck couldn’t blame her; the past they’d had to live through was destined to haunt them forever. Some things would not mend, no matter what happened.

Then Indrid cleared his throat. “I,” he began, and paused.

Everyone looked up at him, confused.

“I might be able to help with that.”

Mama looked at him. “What do you mean?” she said cautiously.

Indrid held up the accordion folder full of drawings. “My brain may have been destroyed by the Ashminder all those years ago, but I’d like to think that I’m still useful,” he said dryly. Mama flinched, and everyone in the room looked extremely uncomfortable. “Last night, when the Ashminder left, I was able to see some visions of what might happen. I drew out what I could, before it came back.”

“Do tell,” Mama said wearily, rubbing her eyes. “We’re… we’re fresh out of ideas. What’ve you got?”

“I’ve got a plan, is what I have.” He sounded confident, almost, as if he knew that this was a place where his words would be listened to. His voice wavered, though, and that made something in Duck’s chest twist; the memory of their flight from the Lodge burned fresh in his mind. Indrid snapped open the folder and started laying out stacks of drawings on the table. Aubrey reached out and pulled the nearest drawing towards her: the one of her and Vanessa, standing with their hands clenched around the same staff. “Guidelines. What could happen, good or bad. From this, I’ve been able to determine at least how we need to start out.”

“Good Lord,” Ned said in a hushed voice, looking at the drawings over Barclay’s shoulder. “Indrid, this… this is bad.”

“It can be bad,” Indrid said. “It can be good. It can go any way. All I know is, if we start it any way other than the one I see here, we’re going to be in some… pretty hot water.”

“How’s that?” Barclay said, scooting his chair closer to the table. “How’re we going to have to start?”

“On Refuge Hill,” Indrid said grimly. “Anywhere else, and each of us is toast. And - while I’m here, Stern, I need my glasses back,” he said, turning to Stern’s chair in the corner. Stern’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, I know about them, and yes, I want them back.”

“Wait, what?” someone - probably Aubrey - said.

“Mothman,” Stern said.

“I know they’re kind of a family heirloom, but they’re still mine, and I want them back.”

Stern shook his head. “Mothman,” he said defiantly, and pulled them out of his pocket; the glasses frames glinted in the light. As he unfolded them and slipped them on, turning instantly into a perfect copy of Indrid, everyone in the room - except Duck and Jake - recoiled in shock. “Holy fucking shit,” Dani said, eyes wide. “Oh, God, that’s so fuckin’ weird -”

Indrid stared at him. Then down at the table, then back at Stern. Slowly, he reached down and picked up one of the drawings: two pairs of identical sunglasses drawn on them, one on top of the other. “Huh,” he said faintly. “Well. That’s… interesting. That solves that part of the puzzle.”

Then he looked back at Stern, a strange glint in his eye. Oh, dear. “And I think I have an idea how to solve the rest.”

One corner of Stern's mouth lifted in a smug, sharp smile.

* * *

_January 22_

_9:03 p.m._

He had two old bulletproof vests in the safe.

Ned changed the combination last week, just to be on the safe side, and now he squinted at the knob in the half-darkness of the Cryptonomica’s back room, trying to remember it. Back in the main room, Barclay paced back and forth; his heavy footsteps made the floorboards creak. Ned grimaced at the safe and finally tried his hand at opening it. The door swung open with a faint creak.

He reached past a dusty red necklace and old violin case splashed with paint for the vests. They were old and dusty under his hands, smelling like the lake they’d last been hauled out of, that time in Minnesota when they’d accidentally driven the motorcycle into the water, and…

The footsteps stopped. Ned grimaced, gathered up the vests, and headed out.

Barclay had stopped pacing back and forth in the main room and had sunk down into a chair, staring out across the aisles of exhibits. Ned came up, walking slowly to keep from disturbing him. The lights were off in the Cryptonomica; only the light from the vending machine shone on the room, making the glass museum cases look like gravestones in moonlight.

Ned held the bulletproof vest out to Barclay. “Here,” he said quietly. “Might give us some leeway, if the thing can’t get its claws through it. This vest saved my life a couple of times.”

Barclay stared at it. “This one?” he said.

“This very one,” Ned said, holding it out further. Barclay took it slowly, as if he was holding a baby deer in his great gentle hands.

There was a bit of difficulty getting him into the vest, but after adjusting the straps - still a bit loose, from the last time Ned wore them - Barclay looked ready to kick ass and kill a man. And that seemed wrong, in a way; though he was tall and heavyset and could probably tip a fucking car over with his body, he was supposed to be… soft. Easy on the eyes. A sunset, not a wildfire. In the bulletproof vest, his soft edges were hidden and sharpened, and all Ned could think about were the stories of how he’d turned his back on every war this country had ever had.

Barclay looked like he was heading off to war. And God, that hurt Ned to see, for reasons he was too scared to admit to himself.

The two of them stood in silence, looking out into the dark Cryptonomica. Barclay put an arm around Ned’s shoulders and gently pressed a kiss to his forehead. Ned felt a lump in his throat, and he said softly, “We’re gonna survive this.”

And it sounded less like a promise and more like a prayer, but Barclay took it anyway. His arm tightened around Ned.

* * *

_January 22_

_9:29 p.m._

Amnesty Lodge was dead silent. Outside, Mama was loading weapons into her car: charmed knives, guns loaded with silver bullets, crossbows, the like. Nobody knew if they would work or not; there was just the silent, intangible hope that they would somehow. When hope was the only weapon you could trust, it made the gun, or sword, or staff, or gloves in your hands seem an awful lot like a useless hunk of shit.

Outside, Mama closed the tailgate of her car. Aubrey grimaced and looked back down at the gloves in her hands. She still armed up. It would be stupid not to.

They were both holed up in Dani’s room. Aubrey sat cross-legged on Dani’s bed, carefully stitching up the holes she’d burned in her gloves from the fight in Sylvain. Dani was slowly wrapping herself in layers of dark clothes; beyond the light from the bedside lamp, she was nothing but a flickering shadow. She zipped up her black jacket and plucked a hairtie off her wrist; her hands were shaking.

Aubrey cut off the last thread and pulled on the glove, flexing her fingers. She felt a brief flicker of energy course through her bones, like someone had gently caressed the back of her hand. “You don’t have to come,” she said, looking at Dani.

Dani shook her head, and sank down on the edge of the bed. Aubrey felt the mattress dip underneath her. “I have to,” she said. “I - have to.”

Her long blonde hair - dark at the roots, tangled and pale - slowly drifted down, almost covering her face. Aubrey swallowed past the lump in her throat, and wordlessly reached out. Dani’s hair was soft and slightly tangled, but Aubrey gently combed the knots out with her fingers and started to French braid it. Dani was quiet and still.

As Aubrey reached forward to gather the hair above Dani’s ears, Dani reached up and grabbed her hand. She pulled it forward and gently, almost reverently, kissed the palm of her hand. It was as if a flaming coal had been dropped there, and she couldn’t focus on the rest of the braid - she just couldn’t. Aubrey pulled her hand back and tied off the braid at the base of Dani’s skull, leaving the rest in a flowing ponytail, and slowly wrapped her arms around Dani from behind. Her back was warm against Aubrey’s chest; the chill of the room behind them made Aubrey’s neck crawl.

“I’ll remember you,” Aubrey said. Her voice shook. And it sounded less like a promise and more like a plea, but Dani took it anyway; she turned her head and leaned into Aubrey’s arms, pressing a kiss to the corner of Aubrey’s mouth, and burying her face in Aubrey’s shoulder. They held each other for a long time.

* * *

_January 22_

_9:59 p.m._

Their coats were scattered on the floor. The minute Duck had even made a move for them, Winnie had launched herself at the coat tree like a bat out of hell, knocking it over and scattering everything on it across the living room. As if sensing they were about to leave, she sat decisively on Duck’s forest service coat and glared at him.

“I need that,” Duck said softly. In the deepening night, he could not bring himself to speak above a whisper. Winnie huffed softly, turned in a circle, and lay down right in the center. “Winnie...”

The shrill screech of metal hangers on the coat rack was like ice on the back of Duck’s neck. Indrid had opened the closet door and was rifling through it; he drifted closer to see if he had a spare coat in there. He had a fair few, though his forest service one was comforting in a way that he could not really explain.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Duck said softly.

Indrid nodded once. He had a white-knuckled grip on the pendants hanging from his necklaces, staring unseeing into the closet. “Yes,” he said, his voice just barely above a breath.

“You don’t have to.”

“And neither do you,” Indrid said, turning to look at him. No light reflected off his glasses; Duck could see straight through the red lenses. “But it has to be done. Some things are unavoidable. I’ve been avoiding this for 20 years, Duck, and I’m - it scares me like hell, but I’m not going to avoid it any longer.”

His voice hardly rose above that breathless, hoarse whisper, but Duck felt each word vibrate deep down in his chest, as if Indrid had been speaking loud enough for a thousand to hear him. “Hell,” he said quietly. “So have I. Guess we’ve gotta cash in our chips here. But - hey.” He put a hand on Indrid’s shoulder. “We’re going to be okay.”

And that sounded less like a promise and more like a possibility, nebulous and grim, but Indrid slowly nodded and took it anyway. Outside, the streetlamp slashed through the windows, throwing a muted yellow splash on the wall. Indrid breathed something wordless, soft and trembling, and closed his eyes.

It started as a hug. A kind of thread spooling tight between them, tugging them together, because in this gap between the promise and the possibility they needed some kind of comfort to bridge them. Duck stumbled - or Indrid lost the strength in his limbs - and he slumped forward and pressed his lips to Duck’s.

An electric, almost pained thrill went up Duck’s spine. Indrid’s hands were on his shoulders, his grip hard as iron and shaking, and that was the only way Duck could tell how terrified he really was. He looped an arm around Indrid’s waist and pulled him closer, until his back was against the wall and his head knocked against the drywall. Indrid’s mouth opened slightly. He’d remember him as long as he could, he’d remember _this:_ a slow, deep kiss against the wall, close and warm and somehow final, in a last grim way that Duck didn’t quite understand.

But for now it was just them. No blood, no death, no fear. Just them in each other’s arms and the setting sun; just them, until the clock ticked over to 10 p.m., and it was time to hunt.

* * *

That night, Kepler was awake.

At the Kepler Ranger Station, Juno Divine lifted her head from a stack of papers - reports on the damage done by the fire at the Eastwood Campgrounds. Her cheek was smudged with ink. For the briefest of moments, she thought she heard hockey sticks clashing against each other, the smack of a puck off hollow plastic bodies. A fog passed that she didn’t realize had been there. Juno shook her head and focused on the forms again. She and Duck could look this over on Wednesday. He’d probably be busy tomorrow with his friend. She could wait a day or two.

Deputy Dewey woke once but almost immediately fell back asleep. He and his friends had a LARP session in the snow that day; it was quite fun, though it tired all of them out by the time the sun went down. He dreamt of elves and birds.

Pigeon Wilson lurched awake, gasping, from a nightmare of sharp yellowing teeth and rushing water. The darkness surrounding her bed seemed to seethe, living and breathing, enraged. Her chest heaved. She turned on the lamp by her bed and stared around. When nothing appeared, she slowly slid her hand under her pillow and gripped the handle of her knife.

In the hardware aisle of the General Store, Leo Tarkesian paused halfway through straightening rows of duct tape. He stared out the front window; in the deep night of the blood moon, the glass was an impenetrable black slab. He flexed the fingers of his prosthetic arm and grabbed a fallen claw hammer, putting it back on its rack. His hand took a long time to let go. In the back of the store, the phone rang, and somehow he knew who would be on the other end.

Sheriff Owens peered into the fridge, squinting at the empty spaces on the shelves. In one hand he held a shopping list. He would have _sworn_ he’d written down they needed more milk - that was usually the first thing to run out in their house - but it wasn’t on the list. He shrugged and scribbled it at the bottom.

His son Calvin had homework that night, and did not fall asleep until 2 that morning. At one point, he found himself staring at the same page in his textbook, reading the same word over and over again, not remembering what it said or what any of it meant. If he could just _remember -_

That night, Kepler was awake. And as it lingered on the edge of sleep, the night pressing close against it, a shadow limped through the trees. It trailed black blood behind it. The wind wailed through the branches overhead, in the shadows beneath the clouded full moon.

There was no sleep for Kepler that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the I Have No Idea How To Title Chapters saga continues. figured an ominous gandalf quote was right for this one, i don't know
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by the songs ["I Fall in Love Too Easily" by Chet Baker](https://open.spotify.com/track/0F845nujLVqCb0XMZCh5Pc?si=HTnIZqHPRT-Tc0SSUp01kQ), aka the song that was playing in the first scene except i was thinking of the one without words, and ["Near Light" by Olafur Arnalds](https://open.spotify.com/track/49kvaxWkvLCNHka049HuVF?si=Gz3ife99TMOTAPn-btYU-w), which in my head was playing over all the scenes at the very end. both of those are on [the official TMWCIFTC playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/dtw172966pmcf2qabxramdtpr/playlist/5uDa6tSawd7qKl5g2xVqHQ?si=tOT1Wn6kSOGs-Zc-TZtq-A).
> 
> i don't have a lot to say here because i've been putting off doing ALL my homework for DAYS, working on this chapter and watching old awful squad videos because i don't know anything about computer programming in python and at this point i'm too afraid to ask :''''''') but it's fine. we're all good. midterms suck, but we're all good. i have the entirety of the final battle outlined, all i have to do is bring out the machete and divide it into individual chapter outlines. we're almost done, folks. we got this.
> 
> as always, kudos and comments would make my fucking day. feel free to swing by [my tumblr](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/) and drop me an ask, if you'd like. okay i gotta go yeet and review my philosophy notes and comp sci code and finish my english homework _because it's all due tomorrow and i'm a fucking dumbass for not getting it done sooner_ , see y'all later!


	15. The Pieces Are Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by ["Captain America" by Henry Jackman,](https://open.spotify.com/track/7gyEcs4Zi69jdMIlqmszsN?si=p7yFeKJIQ8SHJlJuPgCN5w) off the CA:TWS soundtrack; ["Protect and Defend" by Audiomachine](https://open.spotify.com/track/2LYRUPFIYSncjg6V4h11c8?si=8wYhBwVgRTKgybqYHqlB6Q), [ "Redshift" by Audiomachine,](https://open.spotify.com/track/21xzmXTJDXXIyH6KnqviXH?si=GMeGocA_QZ62x6qp9NLezQ) and most of [this playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/dtw172966pmcf2qabxramdtpr/playlist/0zthLuAlCRGZ8q5qk3TQVY?si=ER1rT3jkQn-43Ti5tOW9dA), which is basically the discography of Mark Petrie.

They made their way to Refuge Hill by foot, by car, by snowmobile. Duck and Indrid trudged through the snow to the parking lot, where sledding families would leave their cars while the kids went up and down the slopes. Mama’s truck - the bed piled high with weapons - drove past them and into a parking space. Ned’s Snowcat chugged into the space next to it a few minutes later; it was loud and slow, but it did the job, and both Ned and Barclay stepped out of it armed to the teeth. Jake blasted down the unplowed side streets on his snowmobile, a scarf wrapped around his face and his eyes hidden behind his goggles. The moon was clouded.

Stern gingerly climbed out of the back of Mama’s truck, holding onto the inside of the door with a white-knuckled grip. The wind almost slammed the truck door closed on him; he flinched, shielding his eyes from the blowing snow. His borrowed green army coat blew to one side, showing his gun holstered on his belt.

“You ready?” Mama said quietly to Stern. The man nodded once and reached back into the truck for his travel mug of hot cocoa. On the other side, Dani stood on her tiptoes and pulled a folding lawn chair out of the bed of Mama’s truck.

They had a plan. As Stern unfolded the chair in the middle of the parking lot and gingerly sat down in it, Aubrey crossed all her fingers and toes. God, she hoped this would work.

* * *

It all boiled down to the fact that it used to be a Sylph.

The rules were different, somehow: the things they fought before could be killed in ordinary, physical ways, with swords or guns or even magic. But memories were not bullets. They couldn’t be salvaged like arrows and reloaded; once they were gone, they were gone.

But because the Ashminder used to be a Sylph, that meant they could treat it like one.

Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. The enchantment on her sunglasses made it incredibly hard to see, especially down here in the basement with all the Sylphs around. Indrid, Barclay, Dani, Jake, and Vanessa were softly glowing orange silhouettes, pulsing in the rhythm of their own inaudible heartbeats. It was like wearing infrared goggles or something. She settled for half-closing her eyes, letting the dull orange glow filter through her lashes, and focused in on Mama’s words.

“Sylphs can die,” Mama said quietly, looking down at Indrid’s drawings. “They have a beginning and an end, just like any living thing. I… y’all know that to survive on this planet, Sylphs need an energy source. Barclay and Indrid have their crystals, and the rest of y’all have these hot springs. The Ashminder - it didn’t have a crystal, and it sure as hell didn’t have any hot springs or anythin’, so it had to turn to memories to keep itself alive.”

“It still has the same need for energy though,” Barclay said. “It - is it exclusive that it only needs memories? Or -”

“Definitely not,” Vanessa said in the corner. “When it touched the crystal, that gave it enough energy to reform its body. It’s still wired to take energy from whatever planet it’s on, just like us Sylphs.”

“Good,” Mama said grimly. “That means it can be starved to death, both ways. We need every break we can get.”

Ned had suggested this a long, time ago, it felt like - but it had only been the day before, when Stern had gotten attacked. He was pleased as punch that they would finally be able to take them up on his suggestion. They could trap the thing, now, because it had a physical form and couldn’t just phase through the walls. If it was contained, it couldn’t hurt them. And that was all they needed: to just lock it away and hope for the best.

“And then what?” Aubrey said. “We just… watch it die?”

“Or, you know, watch the new season of _Brooklyn 99,_ whatever works,” Ned said nonchalantly. Holy fucking shit, that was jarring to hear, coming out of the usually easy-going man’s mouth. “It’s… not quite as gung-ho as we usually get, I’ll admit, but it’ll be dead as a doornail when it’s done. That’s all that matters in the end.”

“Ned’s right, we can’t afford to be humanitarian with this thing,” Indrid said. His mouth twisted into a sour line. “I’m not pleased that it used to be a Sylph; that much I know is true. But it seems like - being so close to Sylph roots - it has Sylph limits. Do we have a… okay, okay, I see,” he said, looking over at the whiteboard. Barclay’s flowchart was still drawn on it, looking a little smudged in places. “We have a list. Wonderful.”

He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, looking pensively at the board. Aubrey saw a flurry of rippling orange light, as the fingers of one hand drummed against the opposite arm. “Yes, okay,” he said to himself. He reached up and took off his glasses, polishing them on his sweater.

Barclay dropped his mug of tea on the table.

“I transferred the spell,” Indrid said, not looking up. “It had to be done; it was either keep it on the glasses, or slip and break my nose in Duck’s shower.” Duck made a noise like a mouse getting stepped on and looked at the floor, ignoring everyone’s eyes on him. “Hygiene is important.”

“You’re telling me,” Ned muttered. Duck gave him a dirty look.

Indrid waved his glasses at the room and pointed them at Agent Stern, who sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “That, actually,” he said, “is where you come in. You have my other pair of glasses. If I’m reading this spreadsheet -”

“Flowchart,” Barclay muttered.

“Flowchart, sorry - if I’m reading it correctly, the Ashminder does not seem to have… extrasensory… no, no,” Indrid said. He waved a dismissive hand and looked down at his drawings again. “I’ll start over. If it’s a Sylph - or used to be one, whatever - if that’s true, then it has the limitations of one. There’s only so much that our species is capable of, see. We have limitations just like everyone else. And this thing’s… omniscience, let’s say, can only go so far.”

“What do you mean?” Duck said, frowning. His eyes were bright, hanging on Indrid’s every word.

“Put the glasses on,” Indrid said to Stern. Stern blinked, as the eyes of everyone in the room turned to him, and grudgingly unfolded the glasses again. He slid them on, and like someone on a cosmic computer had hit copy-paste, an eerily identical duplicate of Indrid Cold appeared in the chair. One that Aubrey could see through her sunglasses, while Indrid’s real silhouette burned like a lightbulb in fog just feet away. The hair was the exact opposite - Stern’s disguise was black with white roots - and the clothes were different, but damn, it was the same man through and through.

“That,” Indrid said, “is the Ashminder’s weakness.”

Before anyone could continue, he reached down and picked up one of the drawings: the one with two identical pairs of glasses, the lenses shaded in. “You know the reason why it latched onto me in ‘98. My memories of visions were fair game for consumption, and it was a constant stream of data it could absorb. It… it came after me again, this time, for the same reason. It came after me the night Stern was attacked. And it will do it again, until it’s killed.

“I believe that it won’t be able to tell the difference between me and whoever’s wearing that second pair,” he said. “It can sense magic, sure. It can sense physical appearance, absolutely. But unless it’s…” He grimaced. “Unless it’s feeding on me, for lack of a better term, it won’t be able to tell the difference,” he said curtly. “If it looks at, say, Stern, it’ll sense the presence of a disguise charm, and it’ll see that he looks like me. But it won’t know it’s not... me.”

“Hold the fucking phone, Indrid,” Vanessa said, her voice cold and sharp. Indrid looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “Are you saying we’re going to _use Stern as bait?”_

“Only if -”

Indrid’s words were drowned out by everyone talking at once. Dani was saying something Aubrey couldn’t make out, her face twisted with something not quite rage. Ned was giving Stern in Indrid’s disguise an appraising look, but Barclay had his head in his hands and Jake looked like he was going to pass out. “Are you serious?” Mama said, half standing up from her chair. “Are you really saying -”

“It’s in the vision, Mama, I don’t know what else to say,” Indrid said, over everyone else. “It was the one consistent feature I could pin down -”

“But he hasn’t -”

 _“I was going to say,”_ Indrid said loudly, his fingers digging into the table, “that we’ll only do it if he wants to.” Everyone fell silent. “Stern.”

Stern swallowed and nodded once.

“Thoughts,” Indrid said. He locked his hands behind his back, and from where Aubrey was sitting she could see that his knuckles were white. “I understand completely if you don’t want to do this. It’s a hell of a risk -”

Stern pulled the glasses off and turned back into himself. “Mothman.” His voice was quiet, subdued. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter.

“What - do you _want_ to do this?” Mama said, both eyebrows raised.

Stern nodded. His mouth twisted, his hand tightened on the cane - and he slowly raised the other to point at his throat. “Mothman,” he said, his voice seething with a deep, cold rage. And Jesus, Aubrey could almost hear what he meant to say, what he was _saying:_ the Ashminder took his voice, it took his words, it took his strength - and God willing, he was going to do whatever the hell it took to get it back.

It almost made Aubrey wonder what the Pine Guard would be like, with him on the team.

“You want to help?” Duck said quietly. Stern nodded. “You - Gary, you want to be the bait for this?”

“Wait, his name’s _Gary?”_ Aubrey whispered, staring at Dani. Dani did not answer. How did Duck know that? Did they finally figure out details on him?

Stern nodded. A bit of his anger faded; smirking faintly, he made a finger gun with one hand and pointed it at the wall, mimicking firing it at an invisible target. “Right, right, you got a fancy gun and all,” Duck said wearily. “Loud as God’s revolver, twice as shiny, et fucking cetera.” An ungodly snort escaped Aubrey’s mouth, and Duck looked over at her with a knowing half grin. “Great. So, if - if Stern’s gonna be baiting the Ashminder, what else do we have to do?”

“Bait it, trap it, and wait for it to die,” Indrid said firmly. “That’s all. I hope that’s all we have to do.”

“Hang on.”

Mama drummed her fingers on the table, looking at the drawings. “We’re going to Refuge Hill, you said?”

“Yes.”

“And how will we get it there?” Mama said. She looked at Indrid and added, “If you say we gotta go to Refuge Hill… that’s a bit of a hike, and there won’t be a guarantee that the Ashminder’ll follow us out. You sure we can’t -”

“We can’t go anywhere else,” Indrid said firmly. His voice was soft, but absolute, and nobody seemed willing to question him. “It’s the only place where we even have a remote chance of succeeding, let alone surviving. There was a future I saw where we tried to kill it in Snowshoe. It went south very quickly. We were buried in an avalanche. There was another where it came here, and hid in the hot springs, and it kept drawing energy from it to keep itself alive. We ran out of memories before it ran out of strength. And - and Hills Creek. That was… less than ideal.”

“What do you mean, less than ideal?”

“History repeated itself,” Indrid said curtly, glaring at the drawings again. Barclay grimaced. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“There’s no guarantee that we’ll survive this, though,” Ned said grimly. “There’s never a hundred percent success rate on anything, Indrid.”

“Anything less than a hundred percent survival rate is less than ideal, if I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not willing to let that happen again. Not on my watch.”

The silence following his words was deafening. In it, Aubrey could almost hear the layers of meaning being peeled back: the years of solitude, the Lodge’s silent halls and empty bedrooms, Jake’s hollow eyes and Mama’s scars and Vanessa standing, still and silent, in the corner. Slow and silent deaths. It felt as if guilt was tolling in this room like a bell; out of the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw Dani look down at the ground, gently rubbing her ring with one hand.

“Not again,” Indrid said softly. “I’m… I can’t.”

“And you won’t.”

Mama’s voice was deceptively steady. Aubrey looked up and saw tears gleaming in the woman’s eyes. “Indrid,” she said, “we’re gonna… we’ll see. We’ll see.”

* * *

And here they were, now, in the parking lot at the base of Refuge Hill, huddled together under a clouded moon and praying that somehow, everything would work the way it was supposed to. Aubrey hovered near Vanessa, shivering; the wind was cold and biting, slicing through her coat and right down to the bone. Vanessa had stomped out what looked like a perfect circle in the fresh snow and had planted her staff on its edge. She was a burnt-orange glow in Aubrey’s enchanted glasses. Aubrey let them slide slightly down her nose, so she could look at Vanessa without getting a headache.

"Okay," she said in a low voice, turning to Aubrey. "Do you remember what we're doing?"

Aubrey nodded once.

Vanessa knew, from her time back in Sylvain, a spell that could move a Sylph from one location to another; it needed two people to cast, though, so Aubrey was going to help her with it. They'd practiced the whole day by moving Jake from the end of the Amnesty Lodge driveway to the hot springs out back. By now, Aubrey felt like she could do it well enough.

It was like point and click, she told herself. It was easy. Cast out your senses; find its essence; open a connection from where it was to where you were; and tug. Then they'd cast another spell to knock it out - again, a powerful one that required two spellcasters, which they hadn't really had the first time around - and haul it somewhere where it could be physically restrained. Simple. It was simple.

Fucking shit, she hoped she wouldn't screw this up.

On the other side of the circle, Stern lounged in the folding chair with his travel mug of cocoa like he was holding a drink at the beach. Of course, he had Indrid's glasses on, and the six or seven layers of sweaters that came with it; in the clouded moonlight, all Aubrey could make out was a dulled flash on the lenses, and the dark outline of lanky limbs against the snow. He held his gun in one hand; Aubrey heard him take the safety off.

"We're going to start," Vanessa barked, her voice echoing across the parking lot like a cracking whip. "Remember. Keep it in the circle however you can."

On Aubrey's left, Beacon unfurled, gleaming in the moonlight. Aubrey pretended she didn't see Duck grab Indrid and press a quick kiss to his cheek, before letting him go hide behind the Snowcat. That was a private moment, not hers to share.

"Try not to use deadly force. Aim for the wings if possible," Mama said, from her position behind Stern. "We gotta keep it in its body however we can." Ned lifted the Narfblaster and pointed it at the ground inside the circle, his face blank. Barclay's hand slowly left the small of Ned’s back, and reached for the frayed string bracelet around his wrist.

Aubrey felt a hand slip into hers and squeeze, and she jumped. Dani was standing next to her, dressed in all black; she was a shadow against shadows, invisible except for her pale blonde hair in the clouded moonlight.  "You've got this," she whispered. "I love you."

Aubrey couldn't speak; a faint croak was all that came out of her mouth. But Dani seemed to understand, and she dove in for a quick hug. Aubrey felt warmth wash over her, as if she'd stepped into a ray of spring sunshine. At last, her voice worked. "I love you too," she said hoarsely.

"Aubrey, now," Vanessa said. Aubrey and Dani sprung apart; Dani slunk away to Stern's side of the circle, and Aubrey almost couldn't bear to let her go - "Aubrey!"

"Sorry," Aubrey said hastily, locking her hand around Vanessa's staff. Almost immediately, she felt a thrum of power course up her arm, like she'd dipped it into a torrent of running water. "Okay, what -"

"Cast out," Vanessa muttered. Her eyes were firmly shut. A breeze kicked up, howling over the lake and blowing her tangled red hair back from her face. "Search for it. You'll know it when you feel it."

Aubrey took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

At first, there was nothing  nothing _new._ Nothing Aubrey hadn't seen before, when they tested the spell back at the Lodge. Just a great expanse of glowing grey: like layers of finely spun spiderwebs, stretched over a spotlight, the filaments running every which way. Faint glowing lights bobbed among the spiderwebs' strands, some near and some distant. The closest were ringed around her in the vague positions where Dani, Barclay, Jake, Vanessa and Indrid were standing. In the distance she could sense another cluster of lights: the Lodge, and the Sylphs they did not take with them.

And then there was something... else.

Something too close. Something dark, festering; like a hole singed in the web, a glaring cigarette burn on the fabric of the universe.

 _It's close,_ Aubrey thought, her voice echoing in this strange grey space. _Fuck, it's way too close -_

 _I know,_ Vanessa's voice replied. It was calm, low, smooth - a kind of last reassurance that someone, at least, wasn't scared out of their mind. Lord knew Aubrey was. _Now focus in on it._

_Okay... okay._

Aubrey reached out, felt a part of herself reach out - with effort, as if the world was physically holding her back. A faint buzzing grew in her ears; the grey plane full of lights grew colder, and she sensed an oncoming darkness, a hazy black cloud somewhere behind him. Every instinct she had was telling her to turn around, to see what was coming, to _run_ -

 _No, Aubrey. Just reach._ She could feel the threads of the summoning circle pulsing somewhere beyond her fingers, tied to the essence of the Ashminder beyond.

And then, in the real world beyond, Aubrey heard a loud scrape, a crash, and someone yelped, _“Shit!”_

She automatically opened her eyes and looked back, as a body hit the ground hard. Indrid was sitting the ground near a patch of ice, groaning and rubbing his head, and Duck was hovering over him. “Shit, you okay?” Aubrey said, alarmed.

“Aubrey, focus,” Vanessa snapped. “Focus - come back -”

There was a note of alarm in her voice, and Aubrey’s stomach turned hearing it; she looked back at the summoning circle, where she could see the faintest burnt-orange silhouette flickering within. It was almost through. All she had to do was reach for it, and pull it through, and -

She grasped for the threads, but they slipped through her fingers.

* * *

Behind Duck, there was a loud crack. The air started to feel heavy and charged on his skin, as if he was standing underneath a swirling thunderstorm. On the ground, Indrid’s eyes were sharp and worried, staring at the haze of magic surrounding Vanessa and Aubrey. “What’s going on?” he heard Jake call, and the worry in the young man’s voice made him turn around.

A strange, leaden weight sank into his stomach - a cold kind of certainty that he didn’t like in the least. “Aubrey?” he said slowly. “Aubrey, hey, what’s going on?”

There was a wild, terrified look in Aubrey’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t - I’m just -”

“Focus, Aubrey,” Vanessa snapped. “We can save this.” She had a white-knuckled grip on her staff. The circle stomped out in the snow started to glow, with flickering reddish light. Gritting her teeth, Vanessa held her palm out towards the circle, and Aubrey mimicked her, not quite knowing what she was doing - and God, she was so terrified -

And Duck realized where he'd seen this scene before.

Indrid's drawing.

Oh, God.

There was an almost audible rip, a tear in the fabric of reality, and the air within the summoning circle shimmered like heat coming off a desert highway. Duck saw darkness swirling within that shimmering air, and slowly reaching, flexing fingers - and a long, rotting bat’s wing. Glowing eyes in the mist.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

The Ashminder was trying to tear its way through the rift, its skeletal hands braced on either side like it was pushing apart two double doors. The thing was easily over twelve feet tall, horrendous and misshapen and built like a fucking tank, like they were trying to fight a dinosaur. Its arms were too long, its wings like a hurricane above their heads. Now he understood the terror that the residents of the Lodge had felt, when they thought that this thing might be back.

It turned its great horned head - and oh, great, it had fucking _horns now -_  towards Duck, sniffing; he saw its claws, its jaw like a bear trap, and felt something in his chest twist like an embedded knife, because -

This was a Sylph. It used to be a Sylph. This was what happened when they went feral; this was what happened when the Quell got to them - if those were even the same thing, and Duck had a suspicion that they were.

Jesus Christ, this thing was going to kill them all.

“Run,” Vanessa shouted. She gave Aubrey a sharp look - the young woman was still frozen in fear - and tugged the staff out of her hands. It pulsed with bright blue light, and she braced both hands against it, as if she was holding onto the mast of a ship in a hurricane. The Ashminder snarled and forced the rift wider. “I said _run,_ everyone!”

“Why?” Barclay shouted. “We -”

“The spell’s fucked, it’s shot,” Vanessa yelled. “God knows what will happen if this doesn’t work. Get out of range!” She gritted her teeth and stared straight ahead at the rift, her knuckles white and her arms shaking with the strain of keeping the spell intact. Something not quite like the wind howled through the parking lot, blowing so strongly that Vanessa’s hair blew straight back and Mama’s truck started to rock from side to side.

Slowly, everyone started to back away. Dani cast a desperate look at Aubrey and reached out her hand; Aubrey tried to move through the stiff wind, but her boots slipped on the snow, and she fell to her knees. Barclay started to edge away from the circle. Ned turned, confused and terrified, and an electric moment seemed  to pass between them, one where they both seemed to want to run, but neither were willing to leave the other behind. Jake hovered near Mama, staring at the inside of the circle; in one hand he held a long, almost sword-like knife.

Across the circle, Stern threw his travel mug to one side and lifted his gun.

The sight of Indrid’s hands aiming the gun, Indrid’s face featureless and blank staring down its barrel, made Duck want to scream from the sheer wrongness of it all. He looked down, around, trying to see where his Indrid had fallen, but the wind was kicking up so much snow that he could barely see his own hands, let alone the ground -

And then the world exploded.

Duck was swept off his feet and into the side of the parked Snowcat; he felt his elbow slam into the door and the footrest jam into his back, and he groaned as pain splintered up his back. Beacon slipped out of his numb hand. He struggled to his knees, staring at the summoning circle, and felt cold fear pool in his stomach.

There was nobody there. Nothing. Nobody standing around the circle, no summoned beast in its center. Just Stern, slumped over unconscious in the lawn chair, and Vanessa struggling to her feet opposite him. Ned looking around frantically, the Narfblaster hanging limp in his hand; Aubrey sprawled in the snow, coughing -

Footsteps ran off into the forest. Great leathery wings beat overhead

He looked around, and saw that Indrid was gone.

* * *

She knew something was wrong almost right away - before the Ashminder stepped out of the rift in the air, before Aubrey got distracted by Indrid beefing it on the ice, before her half of the spell failed and Vanessa was left to shoulder its weight on her own. Phantom ice crawled up her spine.

“Run,” Vanessa shouted, and under the steel in her voice was true, genuine fear. Vanessa’s voice, in all its power, would always make her move. She took a step back. And another.

Then she turned and stepped into a dark room.

It was deathly silent, nothing but a faint whisper of eerie whispers - as if a crowd lay behind the shadows, an enraptured theater audience behind a curtain. Watching her. Something… crunched. She felt the darkness pressing against her eyelids and clenched her hands around her rifle.

Then -

 _Bam!_ A blast of blinding light hit her right in the eyes, and the floor shook with the sound of a thousand trumpets. She staggered backwards into a wall. There were shrill voices, flashing lights, and she stared around, desperately trying to find some point of reference - because this world was no the one she’d just left. This world was wrong.

“Hey! Mads?”

A familiar voice called from some distance away. “Yo, Mads! Over here, Maddie, come on!”

Mama hurried towards the voice. Her feet carried her up a flight of carpeted stairs. The music blaring behind her had turned into something slightly familiar: a triumphant march, all rolling snare and sweeping strings and the just-barely-unfamiliar trill of trumpets. She nearly tripped on a flight of stairs, holding her rifle close to her chest.

Her brother Don was sitting at the end of a packed row of movie theater chairs. The corners of his eyes were faintly wrinkled, just a touch of grey in his hair. “You’re just in time,” he called over the music. Mama’s grip on her rifle grew painfully tight, and she felt something crumple beneath her fingers. She looked down: it was a large bucket of popcorn, no longer a rifle, and -

This was a movie theater, she realized. Stale popcorn, spilled drinks, and the blare of the _Star Wars_ main theme - and the year slammed into place like a puzzle piece jammed in wrong, a harsh edge scraping against her heart: 1974.

“Don?” she whispered, her voice lost in the music. He did not answer, transfixed by the slow title crawl and the twinkle of artificial stars on the screen. Like the children around them, captured by the wonders of space. She turned to look at the screen, slowly sinking into the chair next to him, but the screen was nothing but a staticky blur -

* * *

Above them, the Ashminder’s wings beat the winter air like a helicopter taking off; it floated just out of reach, as if mocking them, _taunting_ them, out of range of their spells and moving too erratically for their guns to hit. The trees that ringed the parking lot creaked and groaned in the wind.

Aubrey stumbled and slipped and almost beefed it in the parking lot, again. “Vanessa!” she screamed. “What do we do now?”

The Scottish woman’s face was pale with terror; she held her staff in both hands across her body, staring up at the hovering Ashminder. “Hell if I know - wait,” she said, and looked down. Her eyes were like two chips of steel in her face. “Mama?”

Silence.

Above them, the Ashminder bellowed and zipped towards the trees that ringed the parking lot, part of the forest that ringed Kepler. It couldn’t get through the thick canopy of pines, though; its body was too big and bulky to land without damaging its wings, so it soared up and circled around, as if hunting something down in the forest below.

“Mama!” Vanessa barked. There was panic in her voice; she gritted her teeth, as if in silent apology, and called out, _“Madeline!”_

No answer.

“Shit, where is she?” Ned said. He had the Narfblaster pointed right at the Ashminder, where it hovered at the edge of the parking lot. God, every second that passed made Duck more and more sure that they were screwed. The Ashminder wasn’t _doing_ anything, per se, just… hovering. Waiting. Searching.

“Ned,” Vanessa said, snapping her fingers at the man. He jumped visibly. “You’ve got a gun. Take out its wings.”

Well, shit. A sword wasn’t going to do that; Beacon was only good for close range, and Duck didn’t want to risk hurting anyone by throwing it. He didn’t think he’d be able to land a hit anyway; he was too distracted, too confused, because Indrid had vanished. He’d just disappeared, and there was no sign of him anywhere near the parking lot. “Indrid!” he yelled, but his voice was stolen by the wind. _“Indrid!”_

There was a pained whine right behind him, and Duck whipped around.

Somehow, he’d drifted around to the other side of the circle; somehow, he’d ended up near where Stern was sitting in his chair. And now he was nearly limp in the chair, his gun lying in the snow, shivering and shaking as if he’d just been hauled out of the frozen lake. The glasses started to slide off the end of his nose, and he could see Indrid’s eyes there - and fuck, it was so wrong, it was horrifying, and Duck felt physically sick seeing him like this.

He reached forward and pulled the glasses off, and there was Stern: there was Gary, pale and shaking and sweating, his mouth silently forming the word “Mothman.” “Hey, man, look at me,” Duck said, putting a hand on Stern’s shoulder. Stern didn’t seem to feel that at all. His head slowly lolled to one side, staring sightlessly at Duck, and Duck's blood ran cold.

Stern's eyes were a featureless, blank pitch black.

“Barclay - _Barclay?”_

Ned’s voice was shaking with panic. _“_ What the hell are you doing?”

* * *

He was everywhere, and nowhere, all at once.

He faced down the muzzle of a shotgun, a sniper rifle, a flamethrower, a crossbow, a taser. He couldn’t stay in this town, couldn’t stay in this world; they were hunting him, they were hunting, and they would never stop, not until he was dead. His eyes darted around, searching desperately for some kind of escape. Some kind of cover.

The world swirled, dripped, like a dissolving oil painting, a blur of names and faces and places that he was so sure he should have known, but no names stuck. Tulsa. Denver. Larkspur. Boise. Salem. Boone. Cartwright. Dennis. Lionsgate. Pelican. An endless roulette wheel of names, seething up like bile behind his teeth, and he just wanted it to _end,_ he just wanted to _stop -_

A man loomed before him. His face was a staticky blur - but Barclay didn’t need to see his face to know that he was going to kill him. He had a gun; he’d seen him fire it. An odd one, certainly, but a gun all the same, and -

* * *

Barclay staggered out of the shadows, on the other side of the parking lot. There was something _wrong_ about the way his limbs were moving, the way his head was tilted - as if he was lost in something, sleepwalking through quicksand. Ned staggered back, the Narfblaster pointed firmly at the ground. "Barclay, stop," he said firmly. "Barclay - please, look at me, look -"

Aubrey felt her heart stop, seeing the terror on Ned's face; she knew that he and Barclay were close, and she knew that something was deeply, terribly wrong with the man, but... what was it? What was going on, that made Ned so terrified?

Above, there was a snap of leathery wings. Aubrey looked up and saw the Ashminder rear back, its feet pointed towards them as if ready to grab them in its claws. "Crap," she said, and lifted her hands. She had to keep it away from them. God, she'd already fucked this up, by getting distracted right at the end of the spell. She didn't want to make any more mistakes that would destroy this for them.

The Ashminder suddenly landed between her and Ned; it hit the ground so hard it shook, flared its wings, and roared. Aubrey felt wind swirling in her bones, a great rush of power, and let it rip from her hands.

At the last minute, the Ashminder dodged - and the blast hit Barclay instead. "Wait, no!" Ned shouted, but it was too late. Barclay went rocketing across the parking lot and slammed into a dead tree, hard enough to knock both him and the tree to the ground with a _crash._ Aubrey’s hands flew to her mouth.

Oh, God. She killed Barclay. She killed him. Oh, no -

This was chaos. Sheer, utter, uncontrolled chaos. Something was wrong with Barclay, Mama was missing, Duck seemed frozen with indecision at one edge of the circle, looking around helplessly for some sort of guidance, and -

And where was Dani?

“Get back!”

Her head swimming with panic - because she couldn’t see Dani anywhere, couldn’t see her hair in the moonlight or her face in the shadows, nothing, _where was she -_ Aubrey looked back at Ned. The man was backing up, pointing the Narfblaster at the Ashminder with surprising steadiness. Barclay was shivering on the ground behind him, both hands cradling his head.

The Ashminder snapped its teeth at him and growled, taking a step closer. “Leave him alone,” Ned snarled. He aimed and fired directly into the Ashminder’s shoulder, and it let out a guttural bark of pain. “Beat it! I know how to use this, and I’ll use it on you until you’re just a steaming pile of meat in the snow, you nasty son of a -”

“Ned, what the hell happened to Barclay?” Aubrey hissed.

“You slammed him into a tree,” Ned hissed back, without looking at her; his aim was still locked on the Ashminder, which was now standing still in the parking lot. Sizing him up.

“No - why was he acting weird?”

“Fuck if I know!” The abomination’s wings shifted; Ned shot at one, as it came out from behind its back, and just barely clipped one of the joints. Now he was just pissing it off, and that wasn’t good - “When the spell got fucked up, everyone just… dropped their shit and ran -”

“Everyone?”

“Well not you, obviously,” Ned said. He backed up far enough that he was now well and truly standing in the woods near the parking lot. Aubrey’s fingers itched to cast a fireball, but the Ashminder was standing too close to them, and they were too close to the forest, and in a misplaced flash of worry she wondered just how mad Duck would be if she accidentally set the trees on fire -

And then she looked over at Duck - and past him. “Oh, fucking shit,” she muttered. “Is that -”

* * *

As Duck stared at Stern’s glazed-over, pitch-black eyes, he heard Aubrey shout, “Hey, uh - sir, what the fuck?”

He looked up, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Standing by the back of Mama’s truck, peering curiously into the weapons piled in the bed, was none other than Leo Tarkesian. “Hey there, Duck,” he said.

And surrounded by chaos - half of their group just gone, his partner missing, Ned and Aubrey holding their own against the Ashminder while Stern was catatonic in his pool chair - all Duck could think to say was, "This isn't what it looks like."

“What the hell else is it supposed to look like, a pool party?” Leo said dryly. His eyes drifted away from Duck. “I got your call,” he said, to someone standing just behind him. Duck turned and saw Vanessa, still holding her staff; she gave Leo a short nod, her eyes brimming with an emotion that Duck didn't have the time or depth to understand. "Came as soon as I could."

"Glad you did," Vanessa said, and lifted her staff. "Something's wrong with them, the ones who were attacked last time."

"You take care of them," Leo said. "That's not my area of expertise."

There was a strange, sharp trust to the words they both said. It was as if whole other conversations were going unspoken under the layers, whole sets of orders and confirmations being conveyed, and it made Duck's head swim. He was used to not knowing what the fuck was going on, but this really took the cake. "Now, hold on, Leo," he said desperately. "You can't just - dude, you don't even know what the hell is going on, you gotta get out of here before you get hurt -"

“Yeah,” Leo said slowly. His eyes slid back to the weapons in the back of Mama’s truck. He reached for his right arm and pushed up his sleeve, revealing his black-and-cobalt prosthetic arm. “That… that ain’t happening, Duck.”

“What do you -”

Then Leo bent his right hand back - and back, and _back,_ further than the prosthetic should have been able to bend, and his metal arm shifted. The sleek panels that gave it the look of a normal arm twisted, lifted, revealing a metal skeleton beneath. Duck watched in terrified amazement as the panels broke apart and slid towards Leo’s hand, stacking on top of each other to form a long, segmented sword.

“Yeah,” Leo said, fishing a long dagger out of the bed of Mama’s truck. There was a hardened, focused look in the old man’s eyes that Duck had never seen before in his life, and the sight made something almost like hope swell in Duck’s chest. For the first time all night, he felt as if someone else who knew what they were doing was on their side. “So, uh… we should probably talk.”

But before Leo could say anything more, Duck heard a deep, percussive crack. Like someone had thumped on the bottom of a giant cosmic trash can. The wind kicked up again, blowing loose snow over the parking lot, and out towards the lake.

The lake.

Duck turned.

* * *

There had been a drag across the surface of his mind, like a claw gently scraping down a chalkboard, an oar slicing through murky water. Something in the back of his mind - something that had slept, festered, for nearly twenty years - was finally coming to life. Darkness crept back into the edges of his soul.

Indrid Cold saw all of existence, all at once.

Past, present, future, all laid out before him in a grotesque tableau, in a way that he just knew was wrong but couldn’t quite figure out why. It was like someone had tossed a stack of photos into the air and he was watching drift down, like so many falling leaves, and all he saw were bits and pieces of dreams. Flashes of memory. Slight deviations in timelines: futures where things happened, pasts where they didn't.

He knew, then, in some dark untouched corner of his mind, what this was.

All of existence.

All his stolen memories.

There was a girl standing some yards away, under the light of the clouded moon; water was rushing beneath her feet. He had seen this before; he had seen it, and known it to be true, and there was a time when he’d just stood by and let her die. He knew that couldn’t happen again, he just couldn’t - there was no way he could let this person die, even though he could not see her face, even though the world was quickly dimming to a staticky haze around him -

Indrid took a step. Then another.

* * *

Out there, under the clouded moon, Duck saw Indrid stagger onto the frozen lake - and above, in a whirlwind of snow and leathery wings, the Ashminder was charging after him.

“Oh, no,” he breathed, and without thinking he sprinted onto the ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
>  **the rolls for this chapter, using 1d12 (not 2d6, yeah yeah, it made narrative sense to have the probability be bad):**  
>  \- aubrey and vanessa's Big Magic: aubrey rolled a 4, vanessa rolled an 8, that averages to a 6 - a failure  
> \- aubrey's roll to blow the ashminder away (protect someone): 3  
> \- ned's first shot at the ashminder (kick some ass): 10  
> \- ned's second shot (kick some ass): 9  
> \- duck's roll to find indrid (read a bad situation): 2
> 
> figured i might as well round out the LOTR chapter title set - i got a lot more of those locked away in the vault, though, so keep your eyes peeled. this chapter brought to you by the songs mentioned in the start notes, as well as by me playing "istanbul (not constantinople)" by they might be giants, nonstop, on a loop, for _7 hours_ trying to get this bad boy done. also i watched umbrella academy two weeks ago. completely unrelated.
> 
> so yeah! the battle is fucking here, folks, and it's here with a bang. it's going to be a bit shorter than i expected - probably because this part of the story cashed out right around fucking midterms, and that's going to be eating up my time, so i'm trying to shove this out as fast as i can before shit gets bad. I've been having to shuffle around my outline a lot, but it's been fun trying to figure out where this is going to go! leo's arm was a fun little headcanon I had, back before he was confirmed to be the Chosen One and it was just a theory that a few people were kicking around. i figured that if he was a chosen one, he would have had some bad run-ins with abominations, stuff that wouldn't be so easy to walk away from. and then there was my whole "what if amnesty is just pacific rim with political conspiracies" thing, but that's another story. anyway, sword arm. i just think it's neat
> 
> comments, as always, are greatly appreciated! i want to thank everyone who's left a comment or sent me an ask on tumblr, especially over the last few chapters. i've been going through some shit, and whenever i got a comment on this story it cheered me up beyond words. thank you all so much for sticking around this long! if you've gotten this far in the story you probably don't need this, but feel free to drop me an ask or check out my other shit at [my tumblr](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com). i have a ko-fi link in my bio if you'd like to send some cash my way, too. thank you all so much, and i'll catch y'all on the flip side of chapter 16!! :D


	16. Ere the Set of Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Macbeth,_ Act I Scene i:  
>  **First Witch**  
>  When shall we three meet again  
> In thunder, lightning, or in rain?  
>  **Second Witch**  
>  When the hurlyburly's done,  
> When the battle's lost and won.  
>  **Third Witch**  
>  That will be ere the set of sun.

“Indrid!”

Duck’s scream echoed across the parking lot. The Ashminder looked up, its wings twitching, and bellowed into the wind - a harsh, grating bark that set Aubrey’s teeth on edge. Its wings flared wide, nearly knocking over Ned, and soared towards the lake. Ned fired the Narfblaster at it again; his shot went wide. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Where’s it -” He stopped, as the Ashminder soared upward into the clouded night sky. “Wait a minute -”

Aubrey followed the Ashminder’s path; it was heading for Lake Fisher. Then her eyes drifted down to the lake, and it was like she’d been stabbed in the stomach. “What the fuck is Indrid doing?” she breathed, taking a step towards the lake.

Out there she could see him on the lake, a dark dot like a mosquito on white paper, and Duck was running haphazardly across the ice towards him. “Indrid, stop!” she heard him scream, before slipping and nearly beefing it.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Ned said desperately. He cocked the Narfblaster. “Shit. I -” The man seemed untethered, lost; he kept looking between the lake and Barclay, who was shivering in the snow. “I don’t know -”

“I got him,” Aubrey said, and she dropped to her knees next to Barclay. The man’s hands were gripping his hair so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t pulled it out by now, and despite his many layers - including a _bulletproof vest_ \- he was shivering. Aubrey hesitantly reached out and touched his shoulder, and he flinched away like she’d burned him.

Aubrey’s heart dropped into her stomach. His eyes were a smooth, featureless pitch black - though she could see white around the edges, as if his pupils had just dilated and dilated until they took over his entire eye. Like ink bleeding through water. Still shaking, Barclay scrambled backwards, staring at her outstretched hand. She began, “Barclay -”

He lurched to his feet and sprinted off into the woods.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ned said, his face pale. His voice was nearly lost in the howling wind. “Jesus, Aubrey, what the fuck -”

“We’ll take it from here,” said a voice behind Aubrey. She turned and saw Vanessa standing with Leo Tarkesian; Leo had his back to them, watching the trajectory of the Ashminder with his knuckles white on the dagger in his left hand. His right had turned from smooth plates to a bare metal skeleton, like Luke Skywalker’s hands in the new _Star Wars_ trilogy, and it was holding a black whip-sword that looked an awful lot like Beacon.

She said flatly, “Okay, what the -”

“We’ll talk later. Go help them,” Vanessa insisted, shoving her towards the lake. “We’ve got this.”

“Wait - no, no, no, bad idea,” Aubrey said, digging her heels in. “Vanessa, I’m - fire’s my thing, and that does _not_ go well with ice -”

“You can do more than that, I know it.” Vanessa’s attention was squarely on the forest, her eyes fixed on where Barclay had disappeared. “This is… above your pay grade.”

“I’m not getting paid for this at all.” Fuck, Aubrey knew she was babbling, but her panic was making her mouth and brain get way out of sync; all she could think of was the black emptiness of Barclay’s eyes, and Duck falling on the ice, and how Dani was gone, gone, _gone_ -

“Aubrey, please,” Vanessa said softly, and grabbed her shoulders. Aubrey was forced to look into her eyes, dark and blue as the icy waters of the lake behind them. “Listen to me. Something went wrong that only I can fix. I - I think it had to do with how the Ashminder got pulled through the rift; things got jumbled, its connections to its victims were reopened. This is bad. Leo’s going to back me up in case something goes wrong.”

“But I can help,” Aubrey said weakly. Guilt settled in her stomach like a mouthful of gravel; God, if only she’d been able to focus, if only she’d made the spell work, then maybe nothing would have gone wrong -

“No, you can’t help _me,”_ Vanessa said. She squeezed Aubrey’s shoulders. “But you can help them. Help your friends. I’ll help the others. Please. I’ll come help you all once I hunt down Jake, Mama, Barclay and Dani, alright?”

They stared at each other in silence for a bit. Aubrey heard the whip-snap of the Ashminder’s wings echo across the lake, and heard the Narfblaster fire. She swallowed. “Okay,” she said at last. “Okay. I’ll -”

“Good,” Vanessa said. She nodded once, let go, and ran into the trees; Leo followed close behind. Aubrey watched them until they vanished into the shadows, then turned and sprinted towards the lake.

* * *

It had been snowing. It always snowed, where he went; he went where it snowed, like a migrating bird chasing summer up and down the spine of the world. Some things never changed. This was different snow he felt beneath his feet, but he remembered. Oh, he remembered everything.

Jake stumbled and fell to his knees behind a bush, his breath sharp and ragged. The snow beneath his hands became weathered, gritty stone, and phantom winds blasted through his layered coats. Pain slashed up his spine like he’d been stabbed, and he choked, his eyes stinging with tears.

He _remembered._

* * *

“Keep an eye out,” Vanessa muttered. “It’s just the ones who’ve been attacked, in the past. Jake, Dani, Mama, Barclay, and - and Indrid, but the others are taking care of him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leo said flatly, adjusting his grip on his sword. “How are we doing this?”

“You keep them distracted, and I cast a spell to cut them loose.”

“Really appreciate that. Really do. Love bein’ the distraction, that’s my absolute favorite job, better believe it -”

“Listen, I know you’re nervous, but we have to take this seriously,” Vanessa said sharply, looking at him. Leo raised his eyebrows. “These people - they could die if we don’t do this right.”

“I know,” Leo said. His voice was low, subdued; after a while he grimaced and looked away from her, into the bushes. “At least we’re doin’ it right this time. Not skippin’ out.”

Vanessa bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean -”

“I said we,” Leo said sharply, his eyes flashing towards her. “We both left the game at the wrong time, in ‘98, but now we’re… just doing our best out here. I’m just glad we are. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Vanessa nodded once, her mouth twisting. That was a true, ugly fact of both their lives: they both carried the knowledge that they’d bowed out at the worst possible moments, thrown in the towels, and maybe the Pine Guard had paid the price because of it. Leo was right. At least they were trying.

At last, Leo sighed and broke eye contact, looking back out into the trees. “Doesn’t mean I like having to be the distraction,” he muttered.

“Good to know that hasn’t changed -”

“Stop. Wait.”

In the silence, there was a soft wounded cry from somewhere to Vanessa’s left. Leo’s eyes were fixed on a point in the trees. He looked uneasy. “Shit, is that Jake?”

* * *

Fifty - no, a hundred years, lost - all coming back to him in bits and shattered pieces. Fragments he didn’t understand.

His much smaller hands crushing ice and snow; building igloos in the Himalayas, throwing snowballs at his parents, putting on charmed jewelry and turning into humans to follow the locals in the warm months. Children playing; stars wheeling over great night-glossed meadows. They had crystals, him and his parents - and he had parents, he realized, lying there in the Kepler snow, which was a realization so strange and surreal that he almost didn’t believe it was true.

And yet -

Again, phantom pains sliced through him, as if someone was slicing the skin between his ribs with a jagged knife. His vision flickered. Jake choked and let his head fall forward into the snow. When he finally found the strength to lift his head again, muscles aching and his back on fire, he saw before him a massive stone gate: two pillars of rough-hewn stone, and a third braced over it. The air within was a fuzz of gray static.

In his memory, he crawled through, and saw death.

The Sylvain he and his parents had left, thirty years ago, had been dead. Dying. Since then, it had gotten much worse. It was now withering grass under an ash-grey sky; artillery shells in the distance; cold wind howling over the bones of the earth. Images, flashes, scattered among the pain. He felt the snow sink beneath him, but it had no temperature, as if he was merely lying on sand.

They took him to the council chamber - because, he told himself, people didn’t come back, they never came back, and they had to know why. He felt his age, in the council chamber; he was just a child, only two hundred-some years old, he wasn’t _meant_ to be here like this, tried and examined for some unknown crime. There was a tall man standing before him, wearing the dark orange ornamental robes of the Interpreter and holding out his hand.

“Things have changed,” said the Interpreter. “We need it back.”

“Why?” Jake heard himself say.

“You've returned to us,” the man said; his eyes flashed like lightning under his brows. “The Heart of Sylvain can no longer reach between dimensions to fuel everyone’s shards - not like she used to. Too many shards have left the confines of our city, since you left thirty years ago. Now that you have returned, you must return to your crystal to us, and stay.”

The Interpreter’s hand was still outstretched.

“I have to stay?” Jake heard himself whisper.

The Interpreter nodded. “You’re not leaving.”

“But - my parents,” Jake said. Something was off about the Interpreter’s face: too smooth, too cold, his eyes too flat and dull. What kind of world had he come back to? “You can’t just - I have to go back -”

“You should have thought about that before you came back to Sylvain,” the Interpreter said. “Now hand over your crystal. That’s an order -”

Jake asked, “Why?”

There was a long, tense silence.

His hand slowly drifted up to grab his crystal. This wasn’t his world anymore.

“You need to,” the Interpreter said softly, as if it was just the two of them in this great council chamber. “Give it back. It’s new policy; nothing that can be done.” As if this was a heart-to-heart over cups of tea; gentle persuasion, calm orders, not an ultimatum with the spears of half of Sylvain’s guards pointed directly at his back.

Jake shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m going home.”

And he turned and ran.

He made it to the gate’s courtyard before the guards caught up with him. Spears clattered against the stone; one hit Jake’s foot, and he stumbled, but kept running, running - the gate loomed before him, nearly close enough to touch, its opening a vortex of static and stars. He was so close -

Hands grabbed him; a guard grabbed his shard of Sylvan crystal - it was ghostly, in memory, like a transparent chain of glass around his neck - and yanked it away. The yak leather cord dug into his neck like a knife before it snapped. Sylvan military uniforms surrounded him. Those same hands picked him up, and turned him around, and shoved him back through the gate -

\- into a world of pines, and meadows, and crisp blue skies, and mountains, mountains he had never seen and animals he had never heard. The gate had moved. He had caught it the instant it changed locations.

And he was without his crystal, _without his crystal,_ he was going to _die_ out here -

He was going to die.

And now, shivering on the ground of the Monongahela National Forest, the pieces were falling into place. These memories were wrong, tainted somehow with black mist, and each unearthed one sent fire through his body like his spine was being ripped out. The Interpreter of that time knew, he knew what was going to happen. He knew that sending him out was as good as leaving him for dead.

A figure loomed out of the darkness: tall, broad-shouldered, her head of flaming red hair like a burning torch. He saw her somewhere else, image melding and flickering like two mirages: one moment here in these woods, the next on top of the stone pedestal of the minister of defense, wearing official Council robes - and holding her same staff.

“Jake,” Vanessa began -

“You bastards sent us here to _die!”_ Jake screamed, and tore off the rainbow paracord bracelet on his right wrist.

* * *

Jake’s bracelet landed on a nearby bush. There was a sudden _whoosh_ of displaced air as the lanky Asian boy before them vanished, replaced with a twelve-foot-tall hulking monstrosity: massive arms covered in white fur, legs like tree trunks, a beast like an avalanche given breath and life. Jake took a step towards them and _roared;_ a fine mist of snow drifted down from the surrounding trees. His eyes were a flat pitch black.

Vanessa’s staff was like a cold iron bar under her hands. She gripped it harder, trying not to notice how she was trembling. “Shit.”

“What the hell was he talking about?” Leo demanded, staring at her.

“Not important - come on, Leo,” Vanessa said; she took a few steps back and lifted her staff in both hands, pointing it at Jake. The tip started to glow. “Back me up.”

“Back you - what are you doing - _Ness!”_

Vanessa lunged at Jake, her staff raised.

She was fast, but Jake was faster; one of his long arms lashed out, claws bare, and clipped her calf. She cursed and landed hard in the snow. Jake turned and snarled at her, a deep, guttural sound full of rage and sorrow. Even from where Vanessa was standing, she could see lines slashed through his shaggy white fur, along the curve of his ribs - and she was sure that if he turned his back, she would be able to see bare divots of skin up his spine, too.

Lord knew what was happening to him now - now that the botched summoning had opened the connection between his consciousness and the Ashminder’s, bathing him in hundreds of memories that he could not begin to understand. Not yet.

God, she’d failed him. She’d failed them all so much.

The first time she’d seen Jake’s Sylvan form was when she was still the Minister of Defense, in the 1860s. Jake was just a child then, the equivalent of nine human years old. The last time she’d seen it was back in 1998. The first attack, on the slopes of Mount Kepler. He’d dove in front of Morgan - the Morrigan, thousands upon thousands of years old, she was, a bit older than Vanessa herself - bracelet tossed in the snow and claws bare just like tonight. He thought he could tear the Ashminder limb from limb. He was as tall as it was. He was stronger than it was.

That’s what they all thought.

Indrid’s warning had crackled down the radio far too late. Jake fell beneath its talons; it stole nearly a hundred years, before Barclay tore the abomination off of him. But it got away. By then the Ashminder had gotten its claws into Morgan, had stolen over two thousand years of memories, and had used that fuel to eviscerate at least five other Sylphs.

All because Vanessa had abandoned them, the moment it appeared in Kepler - when Mrs. Pearson’s memories of her time on the force started fogging, when the newlywed Owens couple came to Leo’s seven times in the same day to buy milk, when Indrid himself started losing the threads of his visions. The moment reports of memory loss had started rolling in, Vanessa had left, because she was as much of a goldmine for memories as Morgan and Indrid, if not more, and she couldn’t be an accessory to their destruction. She just couldn’t.

She’d regretted that decision almost every day for the past twenty years.

Behind Jake, the trees creaked. Something large hit the ground. Vanessa lifted her staff again, trying to keep an eye on both the hulking Yeti in front of her and the thrashing pines just a few feet away; she was on such high alert that there was a physical pain in her chest, and every moment she kept expecting the Ashminder’s memory-fogging aura to sweep over her -

And then Leo’s sword zinged through the air, wrapping itself around the tree above Vanessa’s head. Chips of pine bark rained down on them; Jake blinked and stared at it, confused.

Something screamed through the air, and a massive tree came down on Jake’s head.

He slumped to the ground, out cold. The tree fell in the snow beside him, making the ground shake - and behind him, breathing heavily and wincing like he’d been run over by a train, was Leo Tarkesian. “Phew,” he sighed, bracing his hands against his lower back. He cringed, gingerly prodding himself with one hand. “Gonna need a trip to the chiropractor after that one.”

Vanessa stared. “You _lifted_ that thing?”

“Chosen one super-strength, remember? Wasn’t that hard.”

“Your whining says otherwise.”

“Stop. Come on, do your thing,” Leo said, gesturing vaguely at her with one hand. “Get it out of his head. I need to get my sword out of this tree.”

“Why’d you throw it, anyway?”

“Needed to distract him, that’s all. C’mon, get.”

“You get,” Vanessa grumbled, but she still struggled to her feet. Her staff lay a few feet away in the snow; she picked it up, and light radiated through the cracks in the wood. Behind her, Leo cracked his knuckles and stood on a rock, standing on tiptoe to yank his sword out of the tree. He was short; it was a hell of a stretch.

She touched the tip of her staff to Jake’s temple. The spell to scan his mind for foreign magic wasn’t difficult, but the Ashminder’s magic was a different beast entirely. It was like the hull of a massive boat, holding the contents of Jake’s mind, and Vanessa’s own magic was like the water surging around it and trying to get through. It was not impenetrable, but it would still be an ordeal.

But she could do it.

Leo had finally reclaimed his sword from the tree. “Want me to grab his bracelet for you?” he said quietly. “In case he wakes up?”

“If you’d be so kind,” Vanessa said, focusing on weaving the beginnings of the spell. This would be temporary. There was no guarantee that it would succeed. But Vanessa had to try anyway. She closed her eyes and let the magic flow.

* * *

Ned knew things were going bad when _he_ was being the most competent person on the team.

He’d charged after Duck onto the ice, holding the Narfblaster close to his chest and trying his best not to slip and fall; he’d grabbed a pair of old, beat-up tak boots on his way out the door, but there was only so much that the things could do to keep him upright. It didn’t help that Barclay’s panicked face kept flashing in his field of vision: pale, terrified, his eyes like two lumps of coal in is head. He’d had the same terror in his face as the day they’d gone to Indrid’s Winnebago.

And Barclay had run into the forest - run away from them, as if they'd been coming after him with knives and assault rifles. He'd been _scared_ of them. The leathery _snap_ of the Ashminder's wings echoed overhead like a thunderclap; Ned stopped to get his eyes on it, to make sure it was in his field of vision so he could devote all the hatred and fear in his body to it. Those thoughts of letting it get him on purpose - to let it take what he chose, to make his life a guiltless blank slate - were a distant memory now. Like it or not, he was needed on this battlefield. Barclay, wherever he'd run, needed him to finish this.

“Indrid, don’t move!” he head Duck bark, his voice sharp and high with panic. He whipped out Beacon, staring at the Ashminder tumbling through the clouds above. “Stay where you are, man, please, God -”

Indrid was standing some twenty feet away, frozen on the ice. The wind ruffled his hair. His eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, near the northern edge of the lake where the Greenbrier River fed into it. From here, Ned couldn't see his face, but the set of his shoulders was tense, as if he was watching a horrible scene that he could not take his eyes away from. He was standing near the rotten center of the ice; Ned felt the hollow thump of Duck's footsteps reverberate back to him. At any minute, this thing could crack. They had to get him off the ice, and they had to do it now.

Above, the Ashminder screeched and dove towards Indrid. Ned fired at the Ashminder as it came down.

He was aiming for its chest, hoping to nail one of its talons, or maybe a memory sucker - just to make it more difficult for it to come after them. The shot went a bit wide and clipped one of its large rib-talons, breaking it clean off. Duck yelped as it hit the ice next to him with a _crack._ “Ha! Take that!” Ned cackled, priming the Narf-blaster again. The Ashminder shrieked in pain, a terrible sound like tearing metal, and flared its wings.

There were hurried footsteps behind him - hollow on the ice - and ned saw Aubrey skid into view. “Nice shot!” she said, lifting her hands.

“Thanks!” Ned slid slightly away from Aubrey; he was real familiar with what could happen if you were too close to her in battle. None of them were going to forget the Pizza Hut incident any time soon.

“See if you can pull it off again!”

Ned nodded and aimed the Narfblaster at the Ashminder one last time, feeling for all the world like he was trying to shoot the horns off a rampaging bull. The talons that protruded from its rib cage folded back like an opening Venus flytrap. It had an insect-like exposed thorax, grim and gruesome - it was segmented like a lobster’s tail, and among the shifting plates he could see exposed flesh. It had to die. This thing had to die. His finger tightened on the trigger.

A gust of wind slammed across the lake, pushing the hovering Ashminder closer to him. Ned felt a fog drift across his mind; the world around him blurred. He could feel his mind being tugged on, teased, as if the Ashminder’s fogging aura was tasting a sample -

* * *

 

And suddenly he was sitting in a dim, grey-washed space; the world was like cotton against his eyes, and a dark mechanical rumble echoed up his spine. An engine. The scenery unfolded under his hands like a sheet, raised and snapped across a bed and gently floating down. This was a back road in the mountains: a two-lane highway lined on either side with yellowing grass and pine trees, sharp peaks gnawing the sky. It was raining; a soft mist drifted down across the mountains, the clouds so low he could see them brushing the fields. A leather-covered steering wheel was under his hands.

Someone softly plucked the A string of a violin.

He looked over and froze. Boyd Mosche was sitting on the other end of the long, single seat that made up the front of their Imperial Crown coupe. His violin case, splashed with paint, sat open on the floor, dangerously close to slipping under the pedals.

“Eyes on the road, Neddy,” Boyd said.

In this memory, Ned's eyes darted to the rain-streaked road. Then back to Boyd. The windshield wipers squeaked on the windshield, in a familiar _whack-whump_ screech pattern. The world seemed to be hanging on a thread - paused, eternally, at the upward peak of a pendulum's swing. Boyd's fingers gently brushed the violin strings, as if he was playing a harp. He fiddled with the tuning pegs; the pitch of one dove far below what it should have been, sounding deep-throated and wrong. A few quick twists of the fine tuners later - and Ned really only knew the names of all those parts because of Boyd - and it was back to normal.

Boyd really seemed to like this violin. In their cons, trying to sell worthless fiddles at an outrageous price to gullible fools in bars across the country, the violins came and went. Cheap pawn-shop buys. Nothing worth polishing, tuning, softly plucking as they drove down a back highway in the mountains of Colorado. Perhaps it had something to do with how they hadn't been able to sell this one for over a month now.

A faint thread of golden light filtered through the clouds; it was late afternoon, and the sunset was hiding somewhere behind the mountains, waiting in the mist.

"I could have made it big, once," Boyd said. The pendulum dropped and began to swing again.

"What do you mean?"

Boyd strummed the strings of the violin with the pad of his thumb - G, D, A, E. The high E string vibrated sharply, like a screeching bat, and they both winced. He strummed again, and again, then placed his fingers and plucked out a minor chord. "In Philadelphia," Boyd said, in his soft British accent. "Had an audition there. Big Five, you know how it is."

"I really don't."

"You know how there's big sports teams? The Big Five symphony orchestras, they're the best of the best in the States," Boyd said. There was a distant rumble of thunder; his piercing eyes scanned the horizon, his brow furrowed, before he looked back down at his violin. It was tucked under his arm like a ukulele. "Cleveland, Philly, Boston, Chicago, New York Phil. I was gunning for Philly; was closest to my old stomping grounds, you know. I used to like the East."

"Mm-hmm."

Boyd paused again; he plucked a low note, then the same one an octave up, testing the pitches. "Could have made it big, Neddy," he said quietly. His voice was nearly lost in the roar of the engine, in the patter of rain on the windshield. "If I hadn't botched that audition, in Philly- hell, I don't know if I'd be on this road with you right now."

The thought of Boyd being gone, that seat next to him empty, sat strange in Ned's chest: a war between despair, panic, and a cold certainty that someday, those words would come true. Two eras and times clashing together in his chest. The rain started to fade; the clouds pulled back over the mountains, and the sky burned orange. Ned blinked as the sunset gleamed in the raindrops on the windshield, like shards of embedded amber. Boyd's violin shone with fire.

"What was that like?"

Boyd looked at him, eyebrows raised. His eyes gleamed.

"Before we met. What was that life like for you?"

Boyd slowly breathed out, looked at Ned for longer than would be considered normal; Ned imagined that he cut a striking picture, with the sunset like a halo behind his head and the silvering hair of his beard glowing. At least, he'd like to think so. Boyd finally laughed softly and shook his head. He looked down at the violin again - clean of smudges, perfectly tuned - and said, "You know. I don't remember for the life of me, mate."

He shifted in the seat, the leather squeaking, and strummed the violin again, picking out notes like he was playing a guitar. Something in a minor key - something familiar like an old itch, something that should have been a bit faster and much happier, with a full band and guitars and trumpets and violins ringing out. As it was, it was like a slow jazz tune, swung and plodding.

As they roared down this two-lane highway, down the spine of the mountains, Boyd softly hummed to himself. After a few bars of this song, he started to sing the words: slow and soft, as if he was singing to a sleeping child. Ned tapped the brake pedal. The engine quieted, the car slowed down, and now he could hear Boyd's words, filtered through the soft patter of the rain:

_"Istanbul was Constantinople,_

_Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople,_

_Been a long time gone, oh Constantinople..."_

The road unspooled before them, on fire in the Colorado sunset. Ned turned the wheel and guided the old car around the curves.

_“Even old New York was once New Amsterdam,_

_“Why’d they change it, I can't say -”_

Boyd’s gentle voice started to fade - it became staticky, as if hearing him through an untuned radio.

_“People just liked it better that way-”_

* * *

 

Ned suddenly felt a hard blow to his shoulder, and he staggered to one side. In the blink of an eye, the distant highway was extinguished; the howling winds and creaking ice of Lake Fisher were spread out before him, cold and unforgiving. He shivered, missing the summer warmth of his memory.

Aubrey’s fist was still raised, from when she’d punched him. "Ned, what the fuck?" she said, her eyes wide with panic.

No time had passed; Duck was still trying to coax Indrid off the ice, Aubrey was still standing next to him, the Ashminder still hovered above them. Waiting for them to move. "I - I don't -"

"Snap out of it, man, come on," Aubrey said desperately. "Shoot it!"

"Okay, okay, I -"

Duck had finally gotten to where Indrid was standing. "Come on, man, you can't stay here," he said, grabbing Indrid's elbow.

"Where is she?" Ned heard Indrid say. "Where's - where did she go -?"

"She's safe, Indy, come on. This ain't safe. We got this," Duck said. He seemed confused, panicked, as if he didn't know what Indrid was saying or what he was seeing. If Indrid was going through anything like what happened to Barclay, though... it couldn't be good. The Ashminder reared away from them, further up into the sky, and Duck took the chance to start dragging Indrid to shore.

"You got him?" Aubrey said.

"Yeah," Duck said. "Let's head back to shore and get to solid ground, we gotta -"

The Ashminder roared suddenly, and the air exploded with motion. Ned looked up and screamed. The Ashminder was barreling towards them - faster than he thought it could go, rocketing over the ice like a speeding bullet train. Oh, fuck, it was _pissed_. Ned panicked and lifted the Narf-blaster again, and pulled the trigger -

The gun jammed.

"Fuck," Ned breathed, smacking the side of the Narf-Blaster and squeezing the trigger - but it was stuck, it wasn't firing, _it wasn't firing_ \- "Guys?" he called.

Aubrey stepped forward, lifting her hands to cast a spell. "I got this!" she yelled, her voice shaking. The Ashminder's talons zinged open again. There was nothing that they could do, probably not even Aubrey - it was too close, too close to stop, there wasn't enough _time_ \- and it was coming down on him. It was too fast.

This was it. It was finally going to get him. It was just like he'd wanted, Ned thought bitterly, less than a day ago - and now here he was, about to get snapped up by it. He started to close his eyes, summoning whatever happy memories he could think of to save it. Tea in the Lodge, the movies they'd watched last night, laughing over soup with Duck at the Wolf Ember Grill, Barclay's hand holding his in the dark -

"No!" Duck yelled.

Ned's eyes flew open. He could only watch, horrified, as Duck let go of Indrid and threw himself right into the Ashminder's path.

* * *

It was raining somewhere.

In this dark, silent forest, every noise was like a thunderclap; the hoarse whisper of wind through the branches sent shivers down her spine. She felt as if she wasn't alone in this space - if she turned just to her left, or to her right, or completely around, she told herself, there would be a crowd waiting for her. She found herself stumbling through the trees, looking for some sign of life in these desolate woods. The tang of distant rain built in her lungs until she was swimming in it, drowning.

Dani walked between two trees and emerged into a crowd of thousands.

They were sitting, standing, lying on spread-out coat, huddled together for warmth. The ash-grey sky hung low like dirty cotton balls over their heads. Dani pulled her coat tight around her and scanned the crowd. From this angle nearly everyone looked the same: long-haired, mostly white, dressed in clothes that could only be described as "crunchy," but Dani knew that despite that she was not out of place. She was home somehow.

And it was raining, here at Woodstock, on the festival's last day.

Glass shattered in her hands - a phantom photo frame, twisted in her grip. Dani looked down, startled, but her hands were empty; there was just mud and assorted refuse on the ground, scattered bottle caps and crushed flowers. She looked up, and saw her sister.

Evelyn's shoulders were wrapped in a blanket, and the rain was starting to plaster her hair to her head. A band was playing in the distance; people were singing along, and the music was _very_ loud, but the distance turned it all into a muddled mush. She pulled the blanket over her head a bit and scowled at the mud. "This is nuts," she said.

Dani shrugged and looked up at the sky, squinting against the raindrops. "I don't mind," she said, smiling faintly. "I dig this."

"Of course you do -"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You walked into the ocean in Oregon when there was a _tsunami warning,_ Dani -"

"I sure did!" Dani beamed at her; Evelyn gave her a disappointed look, but Dani could see the corner of her mouth twitching. "And you stood in an open field with a badminton racket to see if you'd get struck by lightning."

"It was an experiment! I just wanted to see what would happen!"

"And what's going to happen right now is that you two are getting colds. Here, hold this."

An umbrella was pressed into Dani's hands. She opened it and raised it over their heads, wincing as it flung water into her eyes. Evelyn looked up into the sky for a while longer, until Dani shuffled closer and lifted it over both their heads. "I was trying to catch one in my mouth," Evelyn muttered.

"To see what would happen?"

 _"Stop."_ Dani nudged her sister with one elbow, grinning. Evelyn nudged her back.

"You'll have plenty of time for that," said the person who'd handed Dani the umbrella. Dani looked away from her sister and blinked.

Barclay was standing there holding a camera; his hair was long, pulled back with a string, and he had a few wilting flowers hanging out of his pockets. His fringed suede fleece-lined overcoat was nearly soaked through with rain. His Sylvan crystal shard was tucked under his T-shirt; there was a faint orange glow somewhere around his belly button. "The radio says it's gonna be a thunderstorm by then. Now, where'd I put... here, hold this," he said.

He turned and pushed the camera towards a man Dani didn't know, but felt she should have. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, but once Barclay forced the camera on him he hastily took it. The man was tall, vaguely handsome, well-built and muscular, and dressed in all black, so out of place in the hippie-strewn fields of Woodstock that it was like he'd been cut out of a magazine and glued on. His hair was brown with a prominent widow's peak, now soaked and plastered to his head by the rain, and his face was creased and unshaven.  For a minute, he looked completely lost, just staring at the beat-up film camera in his hands.

Then Barclay said, "Jeb, you wanna take the picture? It's gettin' late, we might want to start headin' out before the, uh."

"Inevitable mass exodus, yeah," Jeb said. He had a faint British accent. "Got you." He vaguely waved a hand at the two sisters, his face carefully blank. "Scoot a little closer together, I need you both in the shot."

"Don't break my camera," Barclay said, rummaging through his pockets. "Where the hell did I put the candy?"

Dani noticed a small foil packet of caramel candies hanging out of Jeb's pocket; the man surreptitiously jammed them back in, looking sidelong at Barclay, and lifted the camera. "Okay, get in close," he said, peering through the lens.

Evelyn and Dani huddled together under the umbrella. Jeb's finger pushed a button, there was a blinding flash, and Dani's eyes squeezed shut -

When she opened them, she was alone in the field. There was no music; no concertgoers sat near her on blankets, huddled under umbrellas. Barclay in his fringed suede coat and sunglasses was no longer here; Jeb, the strange man, had vanished without a trace, without even leaving footprints in the mud.

She looked to her right. Evelyn was gone.

* * *

Vanessa found Dani's voice before she found the rest of her.

Her voice echoed off the trees like a siren, calling out for her sister. Vanessa glanced over her shoulder and lifted her staff, soldiering through the trees. Dani had wandered far off the hiking path that went past Refuge Hill; while looking for her, she and Leo had found both Barclay and Mama and managed to subdue them. Mama was sitting on a stump, leaning forward and watching something intently that none of them could see; Barclay had been huddled in the bushes, as if hiding from invisible attackers.

Both of them were relatively easy to sneak up on, knock out with magic, and release from the Ashminder's hold. Mama had asked some perplexing questions about the fourth _Star Wars_ movie that Leo didn't understand, but hearing them sent a wave of nausea through Vanessa's stomach that made it almost impossible to cast the spell. The Ashminder's connection with them seemed to be submerging them in their stolen memories - the ones it had taken from them last, it looked like.

Leo had taken them back to the picnic area of Refuge Hill's park, hoping they'd be out of the way enough for the Ashminder to leave them alone. Dani would not be so easy to take down. Vanessa knew that the girl could put up a fight if she wanted; hell, she'd taught the girl the magic she knew, and a few other fighting skills besides. Her staff glowed a bit brighter.

She found Dani standing near the base of Refuge Hill, holding a branch in one hand like an umbrella and staring blindly into the trees. "Evelyn!" she shouted desperately. "Evelyn, where are you?"

Her voice was growing more panicked, now; her grip shifted on the stick, until she was no longer holding it like an umbrella and more like a sword. Vanessa cut around behind Dani, keeping her eyes on her the whole time. No blinking. Dani could move fast if she wanted to; they all could. Her calf still stung from the wounds Jake's claws had left.

A twig snapped under her foot. Dani froze, then slowly turned to face her.

Vanessa almost wished that Leo was here with her, instead of watching over Barclay and Mama as the effects of her knock-out spell wore off. With him at her back, she would have had a reason to tamp down the grief that swept through her, looking at Dani's face. She'd have a reason to pretend to be strong. Now, though she almost couldn't look at Dani's face, which was slowly twisting into a cold mask of rage.

"You," Dani breathed. Her eyes were a smooth pitch black. "Have you seen my sister?"

"What do you mean, Dani?" Vanessa said slowly, evenly.

"Did you take her?"

"Dani, she isn't -"

"Was it you?"

"No, Dani, it wasn't," Vanessa said softly. Her words were nearly stolen by the wind. "I didn't take your sister. She's -"

That was the wrong answer; Dani's face snapped into a mask of pure rage, and she lifted the branch. "You _took her!_ " she screamed, and launched herself forward. Vanessa panicked, seeing the tears streaming down her face from those terrifying pitch-black eyes, and lashed out with her full strength. She swung her staff and nailed Dani right in the stomach; the girl staggered backward. Vanessa lunged and kicked Dani's feet from under her.

The minute Dani hit the ground, Vanessa touched the tip of her staff to Dani's head, and knocked her out with the spell. She went limp. A lump swelled in her throat, and Vanessa started waving the spell to banish the Ashminder from her mind. Like all the others, it would only be temporary; it had too great of a hold on them, thanks to the memories it had taken, to be gone forever.

Seeing Dani sprawled in the snow, her dyed-blonde hair like a halo around her head, made Vanessa's eyes sting, and she almost couldn't finish the spell. God. She didn't know what Dani had seen, but it must have been _bad_ to make her like this. When the spell was finally complete, Dani's body went limp, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Vanessa slowly bent down and scooped her up, cradling both her and her staff in her arms.

Then she heard Leo shouting.

"Vanessa! Get out here, it's getting bad on the lake - they need backup!"

"Shit," she muttered, and sprinted down the trail with Dani in her arms. The branch finally fell out of Dani's hands, clattering to the ground and rolling off into the shadows.

* * *

He'd meant to go just a foot to the right. Just far enough to knock Ned out of the Ashminder's path. Maybe the old man would fall on the ice, maybe he'd twist something and have a sore back and spend the next two months bitching about it, but his back would heal. Being dead would not.

And he'd meant to jump just a few seconds earlier. Just soon enough to slam Ned out of the way, so they'd both be in the clear, away from the Ashminder's rib talons, ready to stand back up on the ice and deal some justice. After getting Indrid safe to shore, of course.

But Duck's feet slipped on the ice, and he got the slightest late start. He missed Ned by about a foot, missed the window by a few seconds. He fell between him and the Ashminder, and as he slipped on the ice Beacon fell out of his hand, cursing in a way that almost made it sound like he was scared.

A massive, skeletal hand wrapped itself around his body and lifted him up. And Duck Newton's skin _burned._

Mama had said that it could take memories just by touching you; its aura fogged the mind, made memories indistinct, but it was the contact with its physical form that took the memories away. Duck knew in that moment that Mama, as usual, was spot fucking on. He could already feel its magic tugging at his thoughts - thoughts of danger, panic, disgust, terror, raced through his mind and were stolen so quickly he was convinced he was having a panic attack.

But no - it was just lifting them from his mind as fast as they appeared. On the ice, Aubrey screamed something desperate and terrified. He recognized that she had screamed, but the thought didn't stick long enough; it was skimmed off the surface of his mind like a net skimming junk off the surface of a pool.

The Ashminder opened its six leathery wings and floated up into the sky.

It lifted him up to eye level; its great horned head dipped low, and its nostrils flared, as if it was _smelling_ him. Duck felt the rotten heat of its breath on his face and cringed away, trying to look at anything else but the Ashminder's horrid, twisted face. The cold air burned his lungs.

And then for the briefest of moments, Duck had a hysteric feeling of certainty that he could make this work.

He was the Chosen One, after all. Maybe that meant there was a magic button to press, a quick twist of fate, and he'd be lucky enough to survive this if he just... found it. Maybe he could get away unscathed; maybe he'd live, maybe he'd be able to kill this and go home and fall asleep and wake up the next morning and _survive_ -

Even that thought left, as quickly as it came. But the Ashminder's long, thin fingers flexed around his body, and he saw it cringe. Threads of gold zipped up its arm, following the jagged lines of what must have been its veins. Duck saw an almost human expression of pain cross its malformed face, before its flat red eyes locked on him again with what could only be unbridled rage.

Duck knew what he had to do. There was no luck, no fate to save him. There was only one way left to kill this - and perhaps this had been the only way all along. There was no avoiding this now.

He closed his eyes, and thought of love.

It hurt, God, it _hurt_ \- the Ashminder's fingers were like flaming chains against him, burning through the layers of clothes deep down to his soul. He let that pain fuel him, searching for the most viciously joyful memories he could find: Jane's celebration when she got into Columbia University; getting his last surgery done 12 years ago; Indrid's kiss, slow and deep and so full of love - even with his still very unglamorous cold - that even thinking of it now made his throat close up with tears; the triumph of killing their very first abomination.

It took them all. Duck only knew something was missing because of the gnawing ache in his soul and a soft, phantom pressure on his lips, and nothing more.

The golden light radiating up the Ashminder's arms was like the inside of a burning log, about to crumble into embers. It was burning up from the inside. It dug its fingers into him even more and shriek right in his face, half from pain and half from rage. He clenched his teeth and tried not to scream in pain, knowing it would just make Ned and Aubrey panic even more than they already were.

But as he thought of them, he could feel the Ashminder's powers tugging on the concepts of them, and he mentally grasped them and tugged _back._ They were his friends. He wasn't going to let them get hurt by this thing, he just _couldn't._

Duck remembered the joy he'd felt with Ned and Aubrey - two of his closest friends in this town, people he'd die for and would die for him. He chased that spark of joy, deep down, and started tugging things forward. Memories. Thoughts. Dreams. No neat packages of joy and love - they were beautiful in their messiness, their complexity, and the Ashminder would gobble them up like sweet treats, not knowing until it was too late that they were filled with poison.

There were many. God, there were so many, more than he'd ever thought possible. Clinking teacups with Barclay; failing to play Wii basketball on the Lodge's TV with Ned; helping Aubrey arrange props on the set of Saturday Night Dead. His face in Indrid's journal. The relief on Aubrey's face when she'd realized that Duck had gotten out of Leo's General Store alive. Heart-to-hearts with Jake Cool-Ice about what he wanted to do with his life, out on the back porch of Amnesty Lodge. Holding hands with Indrid and watching the sunset, helping Ned cut together Saturday Night Dead footage for greatest-hits reels, suiting up to go on hunts -

Wait.

Something made him stop. The Ashminder took something, something he only knew by its absence, and he let it, trying to parse what had just happened.

These weren't memories.

Not all of them were memories. They were happy, sure, and the golden light shining through the Ashminder's exoskeleton showed that they were working. But - some were imagined, and had never come to pass. Maybe in a distant future they would; maybe in another timeline, where things weren't quite so bad, they'd find a way. These weren't real.

But they still had power. _Hope_ still had power. It didn't have to be memories, just - just happy thoughts, as incredibly stupid and simple as it seemed. Just -

Just hope -

The Ashminder's great glowing eyes narrowed. A fog overwhelmed his mind, and Duck felt the numb tingling in his spine turn to stabbing pain. The world turned to fuzzy grey static, pierced only by the light of two burning red eyes.

* * *

Magic had been churning at Aubrey's fingertips for the past five fucking minutes. If she trusted herself enough to be able to fire off a spell without nailing Duck in the process, too, then God, she absolutely would have. But whatever Duck was doing to the Ashminder seemed to be absolutely _breaking_ it; golden light streamed through the cracks in its exoskeleton, and it was thrashing around in obvious pain. Duck was unconscious in its massive, skeletal hand; his head lolled like a ragdoll, and his eyes had long since closed.

They'd promised that it wouldn't come to this.

Rage boiled up in Aubrey's chest, and she tried to squash it down. None of them had known this would happen. Not even Indrid knew if they were going to fail or succeed. But it made her want to scream, to cry, to break down in tears and sob right there on the ice because these were her friends - hell, the way things were going, her _family_. She couldn't let this happen to Duck.

But stand by was all she could do. God, where the fuck were Mama and Vanessa?

Ned was following the Ashminder's motions with his Narf-Blaster. Over its screams, he yelled, "I can't keep my aim on it!"

"Don't shoot, you might hit Duck,"Aubrey yelled back. The thing was making a hell of a racket; she hoped for a minute that the townsfolk miraculously didn't hear its guttural shrieks echoing off the hills. But who was she kidding. This was West Virginia. Everyone probably had at least one gun in their house. And even if they didn't, the police station was relatively close, but that was a last fucking resort if she'd ever seen one -

The Ashminder's screams suddenly stopped.

The golden light, which had made it look like a flaming meteor as it hovered, died out. Aubrey and Ned looked up, holding their breath -

"Fuck, move!" Ned barked, grabbing Indrid's arms and dragging him away. Aubrey skidded after them as the Ashminder, body limp and wings still, dropped like it had been shot out of the sky. It hit the ice hard; there was a groaning, hollow _crack_ , and they all froze, staring at its massive slumped body. Was the ice going to break?

Then Indrid said, softly, "Oh, no."

Aubrey turned and looked at him, shocked speechless. Whatever had come over him - and the others who'd been attacked by this thing in the past - had seemed to lift when the Ashminder fell to the ice. His glasses had slid down his nose; there were traces of black around the edges of his eyes, but they were slowly receding, like a video of ink bleeding through paper run backwards. He was staring at the Ashminder's still body without breathing.

What had Duck done?

The Ashminder's body shivered, shuddered, and collapsed in on itself like a poorly-constructed sand castle. All that was left was a pile of exoskeleton plates and those horrendous, man-sized hands, still attached to skeletal forelimbs. The hand that had been holding Duck slowly opened, and the man himself rolled out. The ice slowly became streaked with blood; his clothes were torn down to the flesh in the places where the Ashminder had touched him, as if its fingers alone had carved into his skin like knives.

"Oh, God," Ned croaked.

After a second of bated breath, Duck opened his eyes.

Indrid swallowed. "Duck?" he said softly. "Duck, can you hear us?"

Duck squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. He frowned at them slightly, turning his head to one side to get a better look at them.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

It was as if someone had torn Aubrey's heart out with a rusty hand saw. He didn't know them. He didn't know who they were. Duck Newton had given everything to the Ashminder to break its body apart, and he didn't know who they were, _he didn't know them -_

"Duck?" Indrid repeated, his voice shaking. Oh, God, no - "Duck, it's me, Indrid - are you - _Duck?_ " Aubrey couldn't look anymore. She covered her mouth to keep her sobs from pouring out, and turned away, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, her vision was filled with an orange haze.

Fear filled her body so quickly it was as if she'd been plunged into the icy water below their feet. Aubrey slowly looked up, at the great expanse of ice and snow around them. There was a great mass of orange mist hovering in front of them, as seen through -

Oh God.

Through her glasses, that Janelle had charmed to see Sylvans.

She quickly looked over her glasses - nothing. Just the cold blank night, and a faint sliver of moonlight high up in the clouds. Then she pushed her glasses up again, and there it was - the same shapeless, formless mist, in which she could see the ghost of a wing, the faintest suggestion of a talon.

"It's still here," she breathed. "Ned. Indrid. Fuck. It's - it's still here -"

Her glasses slid down her nose again, and she let them. And she saw two great red eyes fly open in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rolls for this chapter's major events**  
>  \- leo's roll to knock out Jake: 10  
> \- vanessa's roll to free jake's mind: 9  
> \- ned's shot at the ashminder: 8  
> \- ned's second shot: 4  
> \- duck diving in front of ned: 5. a protect someone roll, 4 + 1 cool  
> \- duck's roll to resist the ashminder: 3
> 
>  
> 
> alas, poor duck. wait. wrong play. using macbeth as a chapter title was a big indicator that this was going to go VERY far downhill. don't say i didn't warn you.
> 
> the song boyd is singing is "istanbul (not constantinople)", the most famous cover of which is [this one by They Might Be Giants.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mb5fkDOQwsE) it's a new favorite of mine. as far as tempo and pacing goes, the one i was picturing him singing was more like [the original by the four lads.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wcze7EGorOk) though his version was more like a soft slow ukulele cover than the original snazzy jazz number. but yeah
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this one! I welcome any and all screaming, either in the comments section or by sending me an ask on my tumblr. i hope the jake/sylvain lore towards the start of the chapter was fun, too! i'm considering using it in future installments of this story. That's right, i'm thinking of sequel material. once griffin gives me enough material to bastardize in future arcs of amnesty, i'm going to see how i can incorporate that into a maybe 5 or 6 chapter sequel, in which i try to find a way to conclude the amnesty arc in a way that's still canon-compliant with the bugfuckery of tmwciftc. i foresee that sylvain is going to be very important in the future, in canon. it might even be the center of a battle of pelennor fields style charge. (imagine the hornets charging in like the rohirrim on their dirtbikes. that'd be fucking dope.) 
> 
> anyway! sorry for uploading this in the middle of the fucking night, i'm still recovering from a brutal all-nighter from wednesday, and my sleep schedule is fucked to hell even more than usual. hope y'all liked it! or hated it so much you liked it. or hated it. any reaction is fine, and i'd love to hear whatever you have to say! again, this is [my tumblr](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9D), if you want to drop me an ask. anon is on. i also have a ko-fi link in my bio, if you'd like to send something my way. chapter 17 is outlined, locked and loaded. i just actually have to write it. expect an update... soon. have a great night, everyone!


	17. The Rest Is Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> \- blood  
> \- gore  
> \- drowning
> 
> Title from _Hamlet_ , act V scene ii:
> 
>  **Hamlet:**  
>  O, I die, Horatio.  
> The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit.  
> I cannot live to hear the news from England.  
> But I do prophesy the election lights  
> On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice.  
> So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less,  
> Which have solicited. The rest is silence.  
>  _(dies)_
> 
> This chapter brought to you by the songs ["Your Majesty" by Lorne Balfe and Rupert Gregson-Williams,](https://open.spotify.com/track/40of9kdRKtBlIIyKByBPpI?si=hoydkKquR1W-7BhPfpu19g) and ["Mary" by Big Thief](https://open.spotify.com/track/6dtB54Z7eICDUOPq3QwXuo?si=r7_a7wD5SwWX0mvmob93BQ), as well as [the rest of the official TMWCIFTC playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/user/dtw172966pmcf2qabxramdtpr/playlist/5uDa6tSawd7qKl5g2xVqHQ?si=A8S83SryTbqkUxIiS-ZY9g)

Ned Chicane was going to run.

She could see it in the way he was shaking, in the way the Narfblaster was about to fall right out of his hands. His eyes were fixed on the spot where the Ashminder had disappeared; the hollow plates of its exoskeleton clanked softly against each other in the wind. All the while, those deep red eyes watched them from the night, unblinking and narrow. It was waiting.

His eyes darted from the blood in the snow to those eyes, and he took a step back. There was only so much that Ned “Cowardly” Chicane could take. She just knew he was going to book it.

She’d have to let him.

“Ned,” Aubrey whispered.

There was no indication that he’d heard her.

“Ned. Run.”

His head jerked towards her. _“What -”_

“Get Indrid out of here,” Aubrey said, jerking her head at the other man. Indrid’s hand was pressed to his mouth as he stared at Duck’s body; she could hear his breath, sharp and rasping, and almost thought she heard him whisper a name into his hand. “Get him to shore, send the others over if they’re okay. I got this. I’ll cover Duck.”

“Are you sure?”

The air seemed to flex, as if someone had grasped the fabric of reality and tugged it backwards, and the Ashminder’s red eyes vanished. Shit. Fuck. Aubrey pushed her glasses up again, and there it was: a nebulous, writhing orange mist, its eyes glowing somewhere near the top. It was looking right at her. “I got this,” Aubrey said firmly. “Get out of here, go!” Duck muttered something and slumped onto the ice. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t _moving -_

Ned seemed lost in thought. A bad thing to do, when tensions were this high and the abomination was _right there,_ about to attack them - but his eyes had landed on Duck’s body. At last, he took a deep breath, lifted the Narfblaster, and stepped in front of Indrid. “No,” he said firmly. “Indrid, get back to shore.”

The man stared at Ned like he’d lost his mind. “What -”

“Get back. We’ve got this.” Indrid took a step back, then another, and started picking his way across the ice. Ned cocked the Narfblaster and lifted it, pointing roughly where the Ashminder’s eyes had been before it disappeared.

The air hissed, like wind scraping over sand, and the Ashminder drifted closer. Its orange aura spun thin in one place, like a thread of cotton candy forming in a machine, and seemed to reach for Duck. “Get fucked,” Aubrey snarled, and she lifted her hands.

Wind rocketed out of her hands and right into the Ashminder’s body. The blast was powerful enough that she could see it scatter in her vision, like a cosmic hand had blown a palmful of orange glitter across Lake Fisher’s groaning ice. It was almost beautiful, in a way: hearing it scream in pain, as its body was stretched to its limits and nearly torn apart. She felt the magic tug at her bones as the wind roared louder and louder, and the orange sparks of the Ashminder’s aura began to fade.

This was it. She was killing it. A kind of vindictive, gleeful rage burned in her chest, and she felt herself grin as the light flickered and faded. That tug in her bones grew to an almost sharp pain, but she ignored it, because this could do it if she just held on long enough -

The light flickered out. Aubrey dropped the spell and nearly fell over, as a wave of emptiness washed over her. God. Her chest heaved. Was this it? Was it done?

Orange sparks danced around her.

There was a rush of foul-smelling wind, and the sparks slammed together and rocketed up into the sky, snapping together like a released rubber band. Aubrey felt her stomach lurch and tried to lift her hands, but there was no more strength in her limbs. Six wings swirled in the night air, and the shapeless mist descended, its form a seething mass of glowing orange in her vision.

Her glasses slipped down, and the orange-tinged haze disappeared, revealing the world in all its drab blankness. Aubrey’s eyes focused in time to see a great black cloud rocket towards Ned, and then go completely invisible. “Ned, move!” she yelled, scrambling to push up her glasses so she could see it better. The air churned around them, as if beaten by unseen wings.

Ned lifted the Narfblaster and tried to aim it, but the air was still and silent. His eyes darted around frantically. “What the fuck,” Aubrey heard him say.

The air did that _thing_ again, where it flexed like a rubber band pulled taut, and Aubrey heard the leathery snap of wings. Ned must have heard it too, and much closer to him, because he flinched and let a shot fly from the Narfblaster. It went wide and smashed into the ice instead. Something happened, and his feet flew from under him. Aubrey cringed as he hit the ice; there was a crack, and she didn't know whether to hope it was the ice or just Ned's head hitting it. Both were equally bad.

And he was still lying there, motionless.

“Ned?” Aubrey breathed.

* * *

He tried to give it every joyful thing he had. Oh, he _tried._

Looking back, it was hard to find something that had not yet been tainted by the passage of time. But they had to do. Ned dug deep down, now, and offered up that last memory of Boyd, his eyes like frozen amber in the Colorado sunset. He thought of gleeful nights in bars, babbling nonsense over pawn-shop fiddles and swiping wallets, before their drunken stumbles back to a hotel room. The night they first met, and all other days and nights after.

And if he felt himself whisper, “ _I’m sorry,”_ to the shadow of Boyd’s face _,_ as those memories were stolen away, well - he wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

Perhaps that last guilt made the memories less effective - a weapon no longer turned against the Ashminder, but against himself. He could feel bones shifting around him, talons digging into his ribs, and whimpered as pain sliced up his spine. And he was panicking. He twisted, turned, tried to find a way to pry himself loose from the Ashminder’s claws, but there was nothing he could do.

At last, he settled on the memories he couldn’t bear to sacrifice - the ones that, despite everything, through anything, he’d want to hold onto. Every memory of sunset on an open road. Every dream of freedom, every brief flutter of joy when he realized he’d done something right; every memory of shared glances and touches and _yes, dear_ in the basement with Barclay, and yes, even that last, newest memory of Barclay reaching over him to turn the alarm off before it even rang, as the morning filtered in.

Would this be enough? Would it?

The Ashminder battered at his memories like an eighteen-wheeler smashing through a concrete wall, taking without discrimination. And Ned could do nothing. It was as if he had been pushed off a cliff and was clinging by his fingernails to the edge.

Now was the worst time to doubt himself, he knew; this was not the time to question the choice he’d made on the beach, the choice to fight this thing and kill it and not give in. In the world beyond, Duck was bleeding out on the snow. That was what would happen to him, if he listened to the part of him that just wanted him to give in - just wanted this all to be _over._

 _I can’t do this,_ said that voice in his head. _I’m - I’m not strong enough._

He didn’t have time to crush it down, like he always had before. _Of course,_ said another voice: deeper, more sinister. Not the voice of the Ashminder; if anything, it sounded like Boyd’s, like Duck’s, like Aubrey’s, like Barclay’s, a horrible amalgamation of every voice he’d ever loved, and everyone he’d ever failed. _You never were._

His hands slipped off the edge of the cliff.

* * *

The Narfblaster clattered to the ice. Aubrey watched, a horrified scream rattling in her lungs, as Ned’s body slumped but remained standing, as if he was a doll being held up by his shoulders. Solid shapes began to form around him: an arm, a chestplate, an ankle. Oh, God - Ned had given in. It was taking all the memories it could from him, good and bad, and now it was getting its body back.

Aubrey realized that without Ned and Duck, she was alone on the ice. Indrid had run back to the beach, on Ned’s orders; Vanessa and Leo, wherever they were, were too far away to help, or too busy trying to help the others. It was all that Aubrey could do to keep herself from breaking down right then and there.

It was up to her.

Channeling her magic was like trying to stretch a thousand sore muscles, or trying to wake a limb that had fallen asleep. Aubrey hissed in pain as the earth's energy started flowing into her body, in short sharp bursts that stung deep in her chest. That giant gust of wind had taken a lot out of her, and it had all been for nothing -

No. She still had a chance. She had to _believe_ that she still had a chance. Still, even as Aubrey palmed some powders and oils and let the magic flow to her fingertips, she tugged some memories forward. Small ones, but ones that filled her with such joy and peace that even thinking of them now made her throat swell with tears.

The Ashminder's eyes suddenly flared red, casting grim bloody light on Ned's grey hair. Aubrey swallowed. There was a faint stench of propane gas on the wind, grimy shag carpet under her feet - for a split second, it was Barclay in front of her, that Sunday in Indrid's trailer, the Ashminder clinging to his back and clawing at his memories.

Fire had been a disaster last time. But desperate times called for desperate measures. As the Ashminder let go of Ned's body, letting blood pool in the snow, Aubrey cracked her knuckles and raised her hands again. As the Ashminder drifted closer, she could feel the edges of the world start to fray - like two different colors of clay were meshing together in her mind, memories flickered and faded.

She tried not to get distracted. God, she tried so hard; she could see the Ashminder's half-formed body drift towards her, an orange mass in her charmed glasses, and knew that she was running out of time. Aubrey took a step backward and then slid to the left, trying to get on the other side of the Ashminder. She wanted to believe more than anything that Duck and Ned could still be saved, and that wasn't going to happen if they'd get set on fire.

She couldn't lose anyone else like that. Never again.

Aubrey gritted her teeth and dove forward, sliding on her stomach across the ice and under the Ashminder. It jerked away in surprise; the claws on one of its half-formed feet scraped the ice. Aubrey tried to sit up, but her elbow skidded on the ice, and she decided that would be a lost cause. She had the advantage from down here, anyway. Arms outstretched, she focused all the energy left in her body and launched a fireball at the Ashminder.

It struck the Ashminder right in the chest, rattling around inside its rib talons like a basketball. The abomination shrieked and reeled back. The line of suckers between its talons looked crisp and charred. It was clearly hurt, and for a brief moment Aubrey felt hope swell in her chest; maybe a few more, and she could finish this thing off, without having to let it capture her.

But then the Ashminder's pained thrashing became a bit too wild, and its foot slammed into the ice. There was a deep, percussive rumble beneath them. Aubrey heard a _crack_ and whispered, "Oh, fuck."

Below the Ashminder's foot, the ice split and caved.

Okay, now they were working on a time crunch. Aubrey stared around wildly, looking for the next best course of action. The Ashminder's foot seemed to be stuck in the ice, and that had captured its attention; it growled at its foot and tried to tug it out of the water, but stumbled and fell. Its half-corporeal body hit the ice, and parts of it seemed to phase through - it recoiled from the water as if burned. Aubrey had the faint inklings of an idea, but the abomination's memory-fogging aura made it nearly impossible for that thought to stick.

The ice groaned again. Now, Aubrey could hear the lake water sloshing underneath them, and some of it started to soak into her clothes. She cursed quietly under her breath and carefully pulled herself to her knees, then tried to stand up. Ten feet away, the Ashminder was trying to do the same, but the incorporeal parts of its body kept phasing through the ice and giving it trouble. Something about the water -

It suddenly beat its wings and blasted into the sky. Aubrey yelped and automatically tried to dive backwards, but her feet slipped on the wet ice, and she fell down again. Something cracked, and her head exploded with pain. "Ow, fuck," she hissed, clenching her teeth.

Her glasses were askew. Aubrey reached up to push them back onto her face. Orange suddenly flooded her vision, and she screamed.

Something about the pain flaring up her spine and along her ribs kept her from reaching within, to that power that she'd only just been able to trust in battle. Aubrey's hands clawed at her sides, trying to pry the Ashminder off of her, but it just dug in deeper, making her cry out. It now seemed to be hunting, with a purpose, like it apparently had with Stern. With everyone else it had just skimmed memories off the surface. Now, it was hunting. It was trying to get its body back, and it was trying to _now._

She felt it comb through her deepest, darkest memories, searching for something truly horrible to feed on. Her mother's funeral; the fire; elementary school bullies, stone-cold crowds in her earliest shows, the terror and guilt that had filled her body when the Pizza Hut sign fell into Leo's store. But she pushed back. She couldn't let it take those from her, no matter how bad they were - that would just make it stronger.

Aubrey thought of teaching Dani Spanish in the Lodge's kitchen, the softness of Dani's hand in hers. Rescuing Dr. Harris Bonkers. Her most successful shows. Her mother's smile. The glee and awe of seeing Sylvain for the first time - and perhaps she felt the Ashminder hesitate before taking it, like it took all the others. It had been a Sylph once, hadn't it? It had known that world, and loved it, in a way that Aubrey didn't understand. But perhaps she was learning to with Kepler and the Pine Guard. Perhaps this world was meant for her, after all.

Aubrey thought of love and closed her eyes.

But before her senses faded, she thought - she _thought_ \- that she heard slow footsteps approaching on the ice.

* * *

It was as if a wave of fire had swept over them, hearing Aubrey's scream echo off the surrounding hills. Vanessa's staff fell out of her hands and clattered on the concrete. "Oh, God," she breathed, face pale and stricken in the moonlight. "Leo, we - fuck, they didn't -"

"No, no, _no,"_ Leo said, picking up his sword. The two of them had been so busy tending to the rest of the Pine Guard - keeping them subdued, making sure the Ashminder's powers wouldn't overwhelm them again - that they'd forgotten about Duck, Ned and Aubrey. Now, they could see their bodies slumped on the ice - ice that was starting to crack, the noise echoing like gunshots, each one making them flinch. Had the two of them left them to die?

On the ground next to one of the picnic tables, Barclay stirred and slowly sat up, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Shit, what's goin' on?" he mumbled, wincing.

Vanessa and Leo locked eyes. "Nothing," Leo said gravely. "Barclay, stay down, we - we're handling this -"

"Where's Ned?" were the next words out of Barclay's mouth. "Ness, where - where the fuck is Ned?"

Barclay's eyes were starting to focus, now, and the look in them was enough to make Vanessa's heart sink. He was terrified. The man started to pull himself to his feet, with a white-knuckled grip on the picnic table next to him. The ice let out another crack, like a gunshot, and he froze. "Oh, God."

"Barclay, no," Vanessa said warningly.

"Don't tell me what to do," Barclay snapped, standing all the way up. He was still shaking, his skin still covered in a sickly sheen of sweat, but Vanessa still found herself doubting if she was going to be able to keep him back. She couldn't let any of them risk their lives; she couldn't stand to see them get hurt again. "That's - they're dying out there, Ness, we can't just let them -"

"What's going on?" Dani's hoarse voice made Vanessa jump. "Are - is everyone -"

"No, none of you are going out there," Vanessa said desperately, holding out both hands. Dani was still barely lucid, Jake still unconscious next to one of the awning's support pillars. They were in no shape to go charging out onto the ice. "I - we'll handle this."

In the metal underside of the picnic area awning, there was a brief flicker of golden light. Footsteps crunched in the snow. Vanessa slowly turned.

* * *

Somehow, he knew.

There was a ghost of paper under his fingertips, a phantom pencil in his hand. He'd known this whole time what was going to happen; perhaps he just wasn't willing to admit it to himself. This was a fate he feared more than death; for more than twenty years, he had suffered the effects of its attack, and nothing terrified him more than having to go back into its jaws.

But he'd known. He'd _known._ He'd seen this drawing, and crumpled it up and tossed it away. This had always been in the cards, and now it was time to play them.

He slowly walked away from the picnic area, clutching his necklaces in his hand. The edges of his crystal and of Duck's Forest Service pendant dug into his flesh. It was a reminder, cold and absolute: this was what he was fighting for.

Someone called his name.

He kept moving. His grip tightened. Out on the lake, there was a brilliant flash of golden light, amidst the creaks and groans of the rotten ice. A body slumped over. The Ashminder rose like a feeding vulture, its half-spectral wings beating the winter air. Its body was mostly-incorporeal - half-formed, grotesque; Aubrey's memories had done so much damage to it that even as it bled her dry, it lacked the energy to pull a physical form together. She could always put a positive spin on anything; she was so full of joy and love that her very soul was like poison.

He hoped beyond hope that he would be able to do that sacrifice justice.

Indrid took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice of Lake Fisher.

The closer he got, the greater the fog on his mind became, until he was nearly drowning in it. Aubrey, Ned, and Duck were lying motionless on the ice, and the Ashminder hovered above the misshapen triangle formed by their bodies. Indrid forced himself to let go of his pendant; in his peripheral vision, he saw a faint orange glimmer illuminate the ice.

The ice flexed beneath his feet; his stomach lurched. The Ashminder’s eyes narrowed, and it drifted closer - but hesitantly, as if sensing a trap. Indrid gritted his teeth, fighting down a wave of nausea as he saw its remaining talons ripple open, and kept moving. Oh, no, this was no trap: this was justice.

Instinct won out over suspicion. The Ashminder drifted closer, then picked up speed, until Indrid could feel the wind of its passage on his skin. He kept his eyes open and let it envelop him, felt the talons slot into pace along his ribs like hot irons, felt it latch onto his back. He kept his eyes open until he could feel it tugging on his memories. He had a lot to spare. The Ashminder had taken many things from him, but there were some things that he would never be able to let go of. Not until the day he died; and if he played his cards right, that would not be today.

That would never be today, not in any future he had ever seen.

Indrid closed his eyes and grabbed Duck’s necklace by the pendant. The Ashminder swept through him, hungry, desperate, and he found every happy memory he could think of. It was no coincidence that most had been made over the past few days. Indrid felt the memories get jerked away from him like a rug being pulled from under his feet: the way a cello sounded, what it felt like to wake up with Duck in his arms, sunsets in Sylvain, hot water on his skin, the feeling of Winnie’s fur under his fingers, what it was like to laugh so hard his sides ached.

So many things were torn from his mind, like pages from a book. The Ashminder screamed but held on. He knew that this wouldn’t be enough to kill it. Enough to make its body shatter yet again, discorporate it into mist, but not enough to tear it apart from the inside.

So Indrid dug deep down and searched for hope -

And in one smooth motion, he ran his fingers under his necklace - given to him by a nameless, faceless man - and yanked it over his head.

He felt the Ashminder’s presence recoil from his mind in surprise, as his body shifted and twisted in its grip. Indrid gritted his teeth and opened his wings. Somewhere beyond, he could hear panicked voices shouting his name, but Indrid blocked them out. No names to voices - that meant they could be stolen, and he couldn’t afford to give them away.

The Mothman’s wings opened over Lake Fisher, and he soared up into the air.

 _You know,_ he thought, as he zipped into the silent sky. _You can’t be saved._

The darkness in his mind recoiled, like a bloodstain in reverse.

_Not after what you’ve done. And I hope you know that._

Now there was rage, boiling in his gut, as he looked down on Lake Fisher: the shattered, crumbling ice, the bodies of his friends laid out against the snow, even the others - slowly regaining consciousness, scrambling to the edge of the beach to stare up at his flight. _Oh, I hope you know that, when you die. I hope you_ die, _I hope you_ rot, _I hope you never come back to haunt us ever again._

**WHY**

The winter air seared his lungs and frosted his fur, but the voice of the Ashminder - which he had never heard before - chilled him far deeper than the wind ever could. Hearing it made Indrid recoil. He almost let go of that necklace, clutched in his fist. He knew the face that had given it to him, but could not give it a name, and that - oh, that made Indrid so _angry._

**I WAS ONE OF YOU**

_Not anymore, you’re not._

**YOU HOLD SUCH HATRED FOR ONE OF YOUR OWN**

The Ashminder’s voice was almost… sorrowful, now. But Indrid wasn’t falling for it. _Don’t lie to me,_ he snarled at the darkness. _You’ve_ killed _the ones I call my own. We might share a homeland, but you - you can never -_

**YOU -**

_We’ll survive this, you know._  Though now, Indrid wasn’t even sure who that “we” was - another thing stolen. _Your time is up. We’ll all be safe from you. We’re going to live. I hope -_

Liquid gold seemed to pour into the Ashminder’s veins, and its screams reached a fever pitch.

 _I hope you never come back. I hope you_ die!

One last, long, drawn-out scream echoed across the hills of the Monongahela National Forest. Indrid clenched that necklace in his fist one last time and folded his wings, plummeting towards the ice.

The Ashminder was silent; if not for the pain in his ribs and down his spine, he would have thought it was already dead. The water was the key, though - it didn’t like water, and for good reason, because when it was incorporeal it was far less dense than water. Being submerged would tear its body apart, he knew it - he knew it as if it had been whispered in his ear by fate, or written on the back of his hand. Without explanation.

He hit the ice and felt it splinter beneath him. There was a great explosion of golden light that Indrid could see even through his closed eyelids. And the Ashminder died, in the cold waters of Lake Fisher, as the last hopes of Indrid Cold tore it apart from the inside.

It was gone. It was dead.

It was _gone._

* * *

It was gone.

And so was Indrid, fallen under the ice.

The only sounds in the January night were the distant churning water, and the percussive whip-snap of the ice breaking. Her eyes still burnt from the white-hot blast of the Ashminder's death; it was as if she'd been blinded by muzzle flash.

By all rights, this should never have happened. Vanessa clenched her hands into fists, so tight she could feel her nails digging into her palms, staring at the ice. Where were the three humans? Where were Duck, Ned, and Aubrey?

"The ice is breaking," Jake said thinly. "Oh, God, the ice is breaking -"

"Is anyone - how do we -" Leo sighed sharply and grabbed his sword, flexing his wrist in an odd way that never ceased to make Vanessa nauseous. The plates of his sword unhitched from each other and slid back onto his arm. "I can go get them -"

"It's not gonna support your weight, it's already mostly broken," Barclay said. Vanessa could see the hollow fear in his eyes; if the effects of her knockout spell weren't still lingering, they'd all have to forcibly stop him from running out. "Duck's the expert on ice, I don't know - who's going to -"

There was a crack. Vanessa saw the edge of an ice floe lift up - far up, as if a great weight had pushed down one side - and then gently sink down.

 _"No!"_ Dani screamed. Mama - who had regained most of her strength, by now - grabbed her by the shoulders and held her in place. Tears streamed down her face.

Vanessa's hand drifted to her hip, then flinched away, as if burned.

* * *

He suddenly felt like he was floating, in a great featureless void. He almost expected to see stars when he opened his eyes, but no - just a massive blinding blackness that chilled his eyes into ice cubes. Panic suddenly slammed into his chest, and a few air bubbles rose up in front of him; it took a long while to realize that they were coming from him.

And a horrible sense of deja vu swept over him.

Duck Newton was cold.

The world chilled him, in a way that dug deep down into his chest, red and raw - in a way that coaxed frost from his very soul. All-encompassing, absolute. He squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them -

A hand reached down from the dark.

Moonlight flickered above, but muted, as if through rippling glass. There was a high, drawn-out wail through the water - a tone, almost, a slow and mournful song that chilled him deeper and deeper, and he opened his mouth to speak. A name surged up from behind his teeth as he stared at that hand, but he did not know it, he could not say it, even though he knew that hand like he knew the face who owned it -

And he reached up -

* * *

The man’s arm swept sluggishly through the water, outstretched towards Indrid. There was panic in his eyes, but also the beginnings of recognition, as if he knew him somehow. Indrid felt a tickling at the back of his mind; he knew this man, too. He should have known.

A great bubble of air escaped the man’s lungs. The bubble gleamed orange in the light of Indrid’s pendant, which floated free in the ice-cold water.

He kicked his feet and reached out with one of his hands, and something glittering escaped his grasp. A plain necklace, with a shield-shaped pendant. Something tugged at his heart, watching it float, and he knew somehow that he had to put it on.

And then, with all the certainty of coming home, he remembered why.

_Duck._

Indrid snatched the necklace out of the water and hastily pulled it over his head. He felt the water churn around his body as it became human again, and all his clothes started to soak through with ice cold water. Below him, Duck Newton was sinking down into the lake's depths, one arm still outstretched. Blood clouded the water. With all the strength left in his body - before the ice-cold waters could steal it away - Indrid kicked his legs and dove down towards him.

Their fingers brushed, moved apart. Indrid gritted his teeth and reached out yet again, and this time they connected. They held on.

Small bubbles of air kept escaping Duck's nose and mouth. They were running out of time. Indrid could feel the cold carving deep into him, the strength bleeding from his limbs, and he knew that perhaps this was it. This was the end of Indrid Cold, drowning in the icy depths of an abomination's watery grave. But Duck's grip was tight in his, and Indrid knew that if this was how he was going to die... he wouldn't have it any other way.

If he could speak, he would say _I'm sorry._

Then a shadow crossed the ice. Another body started to slip into the icy water, high above them, but someone yanked them back. And Indrid felt himself start to rise through the water, as if pulled by unseen hands. Something up above was glowing the deep blue of a clouded moon.

Their bodies rocketed out of the icy water and landed on the ice floe; Indrid nearly screamed from the shock of cold air against his skin. But he looked up, and saw Vanessa standing tall with her back to them.

One arm was stretched towards the beach; following the line of her hand,  Indrid saw the shattered ice fusing and refreezing together, the cracks glowing like neon lamps in fog. The other held her staff, planted in the ice - and Indrid realized that they weren't all quite lying on the ice. They were hovering just above it, held in place by a powerful levitation spell. There was a reason that Vanessa had once been the Minister of Defense, that was for sure.

But now, even that power seemed to be reaching the end of its rope. Vanessa's arm was shaking. When the ice finished refreezing, she dropped it and exhaled sharply, as if she'd just finished running a marathon. The glowing lines in the ice faded and vanished. "You're good?" she huffed, staring down at them.

Indrid's teeth were chattering so hard that he couldn't formulate a response. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"Right. Sorry," Vanessa said. She swallowed, and grabbed her staff with both hands; the levitation spell seemed to lift them a bit higher, and Indrid felt a gentle warmth cover his skin. Jesus _Christ._

Leo shouted from the shore, "Get them back here!" Vanessa marched forward, her boots clinging to the ice with surprising strength; the rest of them trailed behind her in the thrall of her spell like a line of shopping carts. Indrid saw Ned and Aubrey, and they were _breathing,_ and the relief that burned in him was powerful enough to keep all of Kepler's lights on for a year.

When they reached the shore, Leo immediately descended on Duck. "Did he go under?" he said sharply.

Indrid thought that was a rather obvious question, given how Duck's clothes looked like they were freezing, and -

"Yeah," Vanessa said. "What do you -"

\- and how he wasn't breathing -

"My place is closest," Leo said. "Get in Mama's truck. Door's unlocked; just take them... there..." He looked down at Duck again, just as a wave of sick foreboding swept through Indrid far too late. "Fuck," he breathed, and dove for Duck's body.

"Wait, what the fuck -"

"Stay back," Leo snapped at Barclay. He bent down and breathed into Duck's mouth, ignoring everyone's startled shouts. Then he put his hands on Duck's chest and started to pump. Indrid wanted to lunge forward and do something, _anything,_ to help, but the cold was so deep in his bones that he couldn't even move. "Vanessa. Check Mama's truck for a blanket, and heat it."

"There's one in the back seat," Mama said thinly. She looked like she'd been hit with a snowmobile, staring down at Duck's still body. Vanessa nodded sharply and ran for the truck.

Leo put his ear close to Duck's head, then checked his pulse. "Yes," he breathed. He started pumping Duck's chest. "Okay, come on, Duck, you can do this. Come on -"

Water leaked out of the corner of Duck's mouth; Leo quickly rolled him over onto his side, and a small rush of water poured out onto the snow. "That's it," Leo said quietly. "God, Duck, you're okay. You're okay." Duck didn't respond; he started coughing, hard, and rolled over onto his stomach. "No, you don't - stay up here. Ness, you got -"

Vanessa descended upon them, holding that blanket out, and Indrid could feel the magical heat radiating off of it even from here. Duck coughed a few more times, and Leo helped him sit up; Vanessa draped the blanket over his shoulders, and he pulled it tight around himself, shaking. His eyes were unfocused, staring at a point on the ground.

"Okay," Leo sighed. "Okay. We - okay. Get everyone in Mama's truck, or up to my apartment, as soon as possible. We gotta get this taken care of. Come on, let's go."

* * *

Dani and Jake had helped Aubrey into the back row of Mama's truck. It was hard to get her through the door; her limbs were still stiff, her body reluctant to move. Her parka was ripped and soaked with blood. Despite that, Dani knew she couldn't let go of her, no matter what.

As she and Jake tried to get Aubrey into the truck, her glasses slipped off and clattered to the snow. Dani bent down to pick them up; when she looked up, she was almost nose to nose with Aubrey. Her eyes were trying to focus. One glowed a bright orange, like the light of a setting sun. God, Dani had almost forgotten about that.

"Aubrey?" she whispered. She gently cupped Aubrey's cheek with one hand. "Hey. It's going to be okay."

Aubrey's mouth opened, then closed. At last, she whispered, "Who... who are you?"

Dani's heart plummeted into her stomach.

"You're _beautiful._ "

Dani swallowed, hard, and tried not to cry. She gently pushed Aubrey into the middle of the seats, between her and Jake, and pulled the truck door shut. Mama was helping Stern into the front seat.

She didn't remember her. Aubrey didn't remember her. And silly as it seemed, Dani was almost _angry_ about it, because hadn't Aubrey promised? Hadn't she said she would remember her, back in Dani's bedroom? She felt the phantom brush of Aubrey's fingers in her hair and nearly started crying, but forced herself to look straight ahead at the back of Mama's seat.

The truck turned on, then backed into the parking lot.

"What's your name?" Aubrey mumbled, turning her head to look at her.

Dani swallowed and told her.

"Dani," Aubrey repeated. Then, softly, _"Dani._ Dani, Dani -" Over and over, as if she was reciting a prayer. Each time was like a knife in Dani's gut.

Then a pause. "Dani," Aubrey said, and looked at her. Dani looked up, and forgot to breathe. Aubrey was crying. And she said, _"I remember you."_

* * *

On the other side of Aubrey, Jake stared out at the sky. The clouds were pulling back from the moon. He remembered something secondhand - the _act_ of remembering, not necessarily the actual thing - and took a deep breath. The window fogged in front of him. Wind was blowing in mountains, somewhere far away in life and memory.

* * *

They'd made do in the back of the truck, with the weapons. Neither of them were in any position to drive the Snowcat, even though the apartments were so close. Barclay shoved the charmed swords and spears to the side, making room for him and Ned to sit. It was a short ride; they'd make it.

Through the cracked-open back window, Barclay heard Aubrey and Dani start to cry. He silently slid the small window shut and looked down at Ned, as the truck started to move. The man's head was in Barclay's lap. Ned did not look at Barclay; his eyes were fixed on the moon, as if he was memorizing it, in case it was stolen away.

Then his eyes flickered to Barclay's. They were brimming with tears. "Thanks," he breathed. "Dear."

Barclay froze. "For what?" he whispered, not daring to hope this meant what he thought it did.

Ned swallowed. "Turning the alarm off this morning," he said, his voice a harsh croak. "I hate the sound of that thing."

Barclay laughed, but it came out more like a sob. "You're welcome," he said, his fingers threading through Ned's hair. "God - Ned -"

"Shh," Ned said softly. The truck hit a bump, and he winced in pain, but he was still smiling up at him. "It's okay. It's okay."

* * *

The minute the truck came to a stop in the parking lot, Stern's hand was on the door handle. It felt like the truck’s cab was closing in around him; he had to get out, feel the night air in his lungs again, or else the pressure in his chest was going to explode.

Leo charged up the fire escape stairs to the balcony outside the building, holding Duck’s body in his arms. The man had to be at least half Duck’s size, but was incredibly strong, almost supernaturally so. Maybe he’d ask about it later.

But now, it felt as if something was clinging to his brain - a film that had to be scrubbed off, almost, and though Stern new the monster they’d been hunting was dead, it still sent fear rippling through him. He grabbed his cane and slowly lowered himself out of the truck. His shoes crunched in the snow.

A hand grabbed his elbow to steady him. He flinched. “You alright?” said that red-headed Scottish woman - Vanessa, his brain supplied.

He nodded.

“The apartment is up those stairs,” Vanessa said, tilting her head towards the building. His head was swimming, looking at her; red hair blended into pale skin under the moonlight, and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. “If you need help - ”

“I -”

Stern stopped short, as the syllable escaped his throat. He and Vanessa stared at each other in open-mouthed shock.

_“I.”_

Not “moth,” not “man,” not any variation thereof - a real, genuine word. It was as if a rickety rope bridge had been stretched across a chasm in his mind: not strong or sturdy, but just enough to get something across.

Stern tested his words, and found that they were coming back. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Thank - thank you.” It was a struggle, like hauling them out through quicksand, but words trickled out nonetheless. Pain flared in his throat with every word, like he’d been punched. Vanessa nodded slowly, her eyes alight with what Stern thought was relief.

“There’s an elevator in the first floor lobby,” Leo shouted from the top of the stairs. “Come on.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Vanessa said, tugging on Stern’s elbow. It took a while for Stern to convince his legs to move. All the while, words rattled in his brain, words that he knew he could speak, at last. He could have cried. At _last._

* * *

It was a strange moment of deja vu. Leo had an army of space heaters buried in his closet, and he and Vanessa had pulled them out and plugged them in around the apartment. Hopefully they wouldn't blow a fuse and knock out the power for the whole neighborhood, like the other night.

The biggest one was plugged in and chugging away in the bathroom, where Leo was filling up the bathtub with lukewarm water. Duck was huddled in it, still staring vacantly at some point in the distance. As the water rose around him, soaking into his still-frozen clothes, he shuddered and closed his eyes.

Leo was talking quietly to Vanessa. "We'll see if we can get everyone to a hospital," he muttered. "I don't think they'll ask _too_ many questions, if the Pizza Hut incident is any indication."

"That's a bit too much to ask," Vanessa said back. "If all three of them need stitches, like Stern did, then they might -"

"You're in no position to heal them yourself, Vanessa, holy fuck. You're shaking!"

"I don't trust the hospital."

"Just because they -"

"I  _don't."_

Duck squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop onto his knees. From where he was sitting next to the bathtub, Indrid glared at them. Leo and Vanessa gave each other bitter looks and turned away. On the countertop, by Leo's toothpaste, Beacon's plates clanked as he quietly curled into a tighter circle. Indrid looked over at Duck and said, "Hey. Duck. You okay?"

At first there was nothing. Duck's head still rested on his knees. Then he let out a shaky, almost silent breath, and croaked, "Who - what kind of a name is 'Duck?' "

Indrid smiled weakly; it felt more like a twisted mask of grief. "It's a nickname," he said softly.

As the bathtub filled, Duck laughed and lifted his head. "You know," he said, glancing at Indrid. "I could get used to that."

The right thing to do was laugh. And laugh they did - they laughed until their sides hurt, and Duck's eyes brimmed with tears, and he reached out of the water to grab Indrid's hand. Indrid looked up, into Duck's mismatched eyes, brimming with recognition and relief and _love,_ and knew.

Oh, he knew. Without words, he _knew -_ the rest of the night could be silent, wordless, for all he cared, but that wouldn’t change the truth of it.

Everything was going to be alright.

* * *

This was not his world.

In the darkness, every breath was like a thunderclap, every rustle of the sheets loud as a stack of magazines tumbling to the ground. He tossed and turned in his sleep, moaning, his teeth biting his lip so hard it was a marvel he didn’t draw blood.

This was not his world, or a pleasant dream.

He dreamt of violin strings under his fingers; he dreamt of a car crash, a trapped kangaroo, rain in a frozen sunset; a redheaded woman with tattoos; a rope bracelet around a hand holding his, as it rained in a distant field. Someone falling. Peace. A rushing river. Rotoscoped memories, all layers of deception that could easily be peeled away.

Eventually the dream passed, the way the stomach flu passes: slowly, reluctantly, and with every indication that it would return. His eyes flew open against the forbidding dark. Chest heaving, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling of his cell.

He breathed in. Out. In again.

And as he breathed out, Boyd Mosche made a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rolls for this chapter, using 1d12:**  
>  \- Aubrey's wind attack: 12  
> \- Ned's roll to dodge the Ashminder: 3  
> \- Ned's roll to resist: 6  
> \- Aubrey's fire attack: 9; unintended side effect was the ice breaking  
> \- from here on out, narrative conventions overwhelmed the need to roll to see what would happen next, and rolls stopped.
> 
>  
> 
> [Instructions for how to treat hypothermia](https://learningenglish.voanews.com/a/slow-and-gentle-are-best-in-treating-hypothermia--112526924/115122.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [Instructions for what to do if someone is drowning](https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/1L2dJ3KQsjJPXdZ4Vp3jckh/what-to-do-if-someone-is-drowning)
> 
>  
> 
> (the above are not an exhaustive list and should not be taken as licensed advice. learn how to become certified in CPR in your area for the best instructions on how to save someone's life.)
> 
> So. This is it. Almost: we just have the epilogue left to tie things up, and then _The Moth who Came In from the Cold_ as we know it, is done. Holy shit. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and the way the final battle ended; this was a fun chapter to write, especially with the music I linked in the beginning notes playing in the background. My mental jukebox cues up "Your Majesty" at "It was as if a wave of fire had swept over them," and keeps playing while Indrid's fighting the Ashminder, and "Mary" starts playing at "Dani and Jake had helped Aubrey into the back row of Mama's truck." And, of course, "Arms Outstretched" is mentally playing during That Scene. Keen eyes will notice that Duck's POV there is almost word-for-word lifted from that vision he had at the start of Chapter 4. 
> 
> So I had a lot of fun with this chapter, and this story, and I can't wait to get to the end! Depending on how the epilogue shakes out, it may or may not be a two-parter; we'll see, there's still a whole second half that I have to write for it, and if it goes above 13k I'm going to try and split it. 
> 
> I can't say this enough - thank you all for sticking around and reading this story. Every one of your comments made my day, and I'm glad the story has meant something to everyone who's read. Kudos and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated. If you'd like to verbally suplex me into the ground on Tumblr for what this chapter (and battle) has done to you, [you can do that here by sending me an ask.](http://taako-waititi.tumblr.com/) Thank you all so much! See you at the finish line!


	18. Epilogue: At the End of All Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Lord of the Rings: Return of the King_ : " 'I am glad that you are here with me,' said Frodo. 'Here at the end of all things, Sam.' "
> 
> This chapter brought to you by the following songs:  
> \- [ "Wake Up, Moving On" by Kevin Penkin](https://open.spotify.com/track/7n2SeTLR81vF3xLe1Rg8qb?si=gyPJE0s8QS2ipTFNEzyXsQ)  
> \- [ "Experience" by Ludovico Einaudi](https://open.spotify.com/track/7knaMUwIiLrqFYGy1R792o?si=fG28nY3STVaYDT-nw4pMMA)  
> \- [ "Shine You No More" by Rune Tonsgaard Sorensen and the Danish String Quartet](https://open.spotify.com/track/7ioUQRMN18iIUMF7hxsTuT?si=UI5phF5tRESd8WsQGVnT8A)  
> \- [ "Love and Rage" by Johan Söderqvist](https://open.spotify.com/track/31nQoFUcVrkG5w556Qtish?si=reT96S63QESywPq5UeRPJw)  
> \- [ "Who Else Could I Be" by Peter Bradley Adams](https://open.spotify.com/track/0px8acghPxrLMXXGaS6Mwe?si=Zz1KHk60REikFC6wMvJIJw)  
> \- [ "Bottom of the River" by Delta Rae](https://open.spotify.com/track/2LzyUfJdRp3uqTrITBJXEY?si=n9XjW8xpTrGGzkr3yysN_Q)  
> \- ["Mountains" by Hans Zimmer](https://open.spotify.com/track/6WVRhBxRMW9fn6sRkt2gWn?si=6d-DG1akT_-JG8uZrBw9xw)  
> \- and [the rest of the official TMWCIFTC playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/user/dtw172966pmcf2qabxramdtpr/playlist/5uDa6tSawd7qKl5g2xVqHQ?si=VjgenMuSTp2DzpSU0WBYww)

Not all visions come true. Not all things can be foreseen. Not all futures can be changed.

It’s a blessing when they can be.

So what do you do, when a second chance drops into your lap - when the pieces of your life fall back into place, like a mirror shattering in reverse? It becomes a soft, gentle reckoning. Page back through the memories, pen in hand, circle the words and highlight the lines, and say, I will try again. I  _will_ try again.

These are fragments of a mirror. These are notes in the margins. This is how the world is reborn.

* * *

_February 4th_

_Lake Ridge Apartments_

Two weeks after the lake, Duck woke to soft, velvety darkness. The world was a warm, bone-deep ache around him; he shifted and cringed, feeling pain ripple up his spine. He felt soft fur against his cheek. The Mothman’s many limbs were tangled in his, one wing wrapped around his back and one arched over them both, protecting him from the morning sunlight.

His chest was loosely wrapped in bandages. They’d all gone to the hospital that night, after Duck’s body temperature had gone up somewhat and everyone had defrosted. Vanessa had stopped by the Lodge to refuel a bit, and healed them as best she could; she mostly focused on the welts down their back and slightly closing the wounds, so the doctors wouldn’t ask too many questions. There was only so much her magic could do, especially after that night, and the three of them still had to stay in the hospital. It had been a long, tense week.

Thus the bandages. It was incredibly uncomfortable, all crushed ribs and sharp, painful breaths, and he nearly reached up to tug them away, when a clawed and fuzzy hand suddenly gripped his. Duck heard a soft chittering sound, like the chirp of a distant bird, and one of his wings moved as Indrid reached for the bedside table. He fiddled with the chain of his necklace and put it on.

Instantly, the Mothman vanished, and Indrid was sitting in his place in Duck’s bed, draped in blankets; his face and arms were bandaged. “Hey,” he said, smiling down at Duck. He moved slightly to block the sun streaming through the curtains, and Duck felt a rush of gratitude. “Sleep well?”

He needed water. That was the only explanation Duck could think of, for why his chest felt tight and his throat was dry. For a moment he was a bug pinned to a wall, laid bare by Indrid’s soft, gilded silhouette in the morning light.

Then he sneezed. Once, twice. There was a deep twinge in his ribs. Indrid made a tutting sound and reached out, putting a hand on Duck’s shoulder and pushing him gently onto the pillows. “Shit,” Duck croaked. “I’m still sick, huh.”

“You tell me,” Indrid said softly. He cleared his own throat. “After what we went through two weeks ago, I’d say we both are. I’ll go make some breakfast,” he whispered, and slid out of bed, heading for the kitchen. “And tea, for you. You stay there.”

“But -”

Indrid held up a finger. “No, you stay,” he said. He leaned over, his necklaces swinging free and pooling in a mass of chains and stone on the pillow, and gently kissed Duck’s forehead. Duck closed his eyes and reached up, looping his arms around Indrid’s waist. “You stay. You’ve done more than enough these past few weeks. You need it.”

“‘m not goin’ anywhere,” Duck mumbled.

Indrid gently threaded his fingers through Duck’s hair, and kissed his temple. “I’ll make some tea,” he said.

“I think... there’s honey back on the top shelf.”

“Funny, I thought it was in this bed.” Duck choked on air. Indrid started to laugh. “I’ll go look for it. You need anything else?”

His voice was hoarse, soft, and a bit deeper than usual, and it settled down in Duck’s chest like a warm, comforting weight. He sighed quietly and leaned back in bed. “No,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “You’re here… that’s - that’s enough… for me.”

Indrid’s fingers combed through his hair one last time, and he left for Duck’s kitchen.

* * *

_February 14th_

_Amnesty Lodge_

She was so busy setting out materials for breakfast that she didn’t notice Dani coming into the kitchen until it was too late. Aubrey felt arms snake around her from behind, and she almost dropped the whisk. A head rested on her shoulder; Dani gave her a soft kiss on the side of her neck. Aubrey felt Dani pull her to her chest and squeeze, and she hummed softly. “Morning, babe,” she said, and kissed the side of Dani’s head. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Morning,” Dani murmured.

“I’m making eggs, you want some?”

“Hell yeah.” Aubrey reached up and squeezed Dani’s hand, feeling as if her own hands were on fire. Dani clung to her back for a bit longer; her breath tickled the back of Aubrey’s neck. She slowly let go and headed for the fridge, pulling out a couple of carrots and an apple. Dr. Harris Bonkers, lying on the floor by Aubrey’s feet, hopped over to Dani, who picked him up with her free hand and set him on the countertop.

Aubrey looked at Dani’s reflection in the window over the sink. She saw Dani scratch Dr. Harris Bonkers behind the ears and bend down to rub their noses together. “Hey,  _conejito,_ ” she whispered. “Here, you want some apples?” Aubrey felt something soft and warm in her chest, like rising bread dough, and reached for the stove to turn on the gas.

“You want mushrooms in yours?” she asked.

“Mushrooms?” Dani repeated in a horrendous Scottish accent, turning and grinning at Aubrey.

“Is - is that a  _Shrek_ thing?”

“No, it’s a - it’s a  _Lord of the Rings_ thing, come on,” Dani sighed. She broke off the tip of a carrot and slid it across the table to Dr. Harris Bonkers. “We gotta watch those someday, hon, I think Jake’s got a stash of DVDs in his room.”

“It’s a date, then,” Aubrey said, grinning. Dani turned faintly pink and smiled softly, biting her bottom lip and petting Dr. Harris Bonkers again. Aubrey winked and turned back to the stove. She snapped her fingers and pointed at the gas burner, which ignited in a flare of blue flame.

“Nice,” Dani said.

“Thanks,  _mi amor.”_

In the reflection, Aubrey saw Dani bite her lip and look away, trying to stifle a grin. Dr. Harris Bonkers crawled across the table and sunk his teeth into the last apple.

As the rabbit ate, Dani’s face slowly changed, from something soft and happy to an anxious blank slate. She didn’t know that Aubrey was still looking at her. “Are you okay?” Aubrey said softly.

Dani was silent for a long time. Her fingers paused in Dr. Harris Bonkers’ fur. After a long pause, she swallowed and said softly, “I think… I’m starting to remember things.”

Aubrey’s eyes widened. “You’re - they’re coming back?”

Dani nodded slowly and said, “Yeah, there’s - I - I remember… something.”

“Do you want to tell me?” Aubrey said quietly. “If you don’t, that’s okay.”

“I -”

Dani paused for a minute. Dr. Harris Bonkers’ nose twitched, and he gently pressed his face into Dani’s still hand. She resumed scratching him behind the ears, but her eyes were still fixed on Aubrey. “That - that photo,” she said. “Of me and Evelyn. I gave up the memory of getting it taken that day at Indrid’s camper, and -  I think it’s back.”

“Oh, my God…”

“It was at Woodstock,” Dani whispered. She swallowed. “It was at Woodstock.”

* * *

_March 2nd_

_Somewhere north of Boyer, West Virginia_

For nearly a month, Ned had felt the stars stirring under his bones, begging to break loose, and he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t let them - and fuck it, Barclay was getting antsy too. Kepler was closing in around them. He had felt a world slamming back into his chest, a puzzle piece slotting into place, and Ned realized that he hadn’t seen fields and deserts unfold before him in years.

So late one night, the two of them hotwired Stern’s car and just…  _went._

Well. Barclay did the hotwiring - and wasn't that a surprise. Ned knew he was just enough of a bastard to be likeable. He was falling more in love with this man every single day.

It was a shitty fucking car: a bare-bones 2004 standard-issue Toyota Corolla, painted black, and with a scrubbed-down shabby interior. That didn’t mean the thing couldn’t drive like a bat out of hell. They blasted out of Kepler and down the twisting highways of the Monongahela National Forest. The trees whipped past in grey blurs, and overhead the stars gleamed, scattered like a handful of salt on black velvet. It may have been March, but the forest was still half-frozen and cold. Ned wanted nothing more to roll down the windows and let the night fill him, but he really,  _really_ didn’t do so well in the cold. Especially not after that January night.

In the seat next to him, Barclay sipped from his travel mug of tea and hummed softly to the music on the radio. They passed through Boyer; every window was dark, and not a soul could be seen. Ned stepped on the gas and sped through town, heading past a small church.

“Shit, Ned!”

Ned swerved out of the way of a box in the road, slamming on the brakes. Barclay rocketed towards the dashboard, and he flung out an arm to stop him, catching him right in the chest. Barclay slumped back in his seat and gasped, “The fuck -”

“Just a cardboard box, nothing to worry about,” Ned said. “Sorry for… swerving all over, ‘n all that.” His hand was still pressed against Barclay’s chest, and as Barclay - still shaken - reached up to grab him, he tried desperately to think of anything else but the way Barclay’s hand swallowed his. He didn’t want to drive off the road, for fuck’s sake. Wooden fence posts, briefly illuminated by their headlights, flashed past, and the crescent moon hung overhead in a faint, knowing smile.

He was about to ask for his hand back so he could drive a bit safer, when Barclay squeezed it, pulled it away from his chest, and gently lifted it to kiss his knuckles.

It felt like he’d had molten iron poured right into his chest - Ned felt the warmth of Barclay’s breath and the man’s beard scraping across his skin, and almost drove off the damn road. He turned to stare. “What are you doing?” he breathed.

Barclay stared back, looking a lot like a deer caught in the headlights. He was still holding Ned’s hand. Ned glanced at the road in front of them. Then back at Barclay. Then back at the road. And Barclay was  _still_ holding his hand -

He immediately hooked a right onto the first dirt road he saw.

“Hey, what the -”

“Shh,” Ned said, squeezing Barclay’s hand so hard he felt the bones shift in his grip. Barclay inhaled sharply. They drove past a farmhouse and clattered up to what looked like a dead-end road; Ned didn't know if there were any houses around, but he didn’t care, he didn’t  _care -_ He wrestled the sedan up the gently-sloping, heavily pitted dirt road, feeling every bump jar his teeth and Barclay’s grip on his hand grow tighter.

They hit the end of the path; Ned parked the car, turned it off, and turned to face Barclay. The other man was staring at him, half-terrified, as if he was ready to jump out of the car and bolt. “You could’ve made me crash,” Ned said calmly.

Barclay blinked a couple of times. “Are you… mad at me?” he said uncertainly.

Ned grinned, then, sharp and knowing. Something flickered in Barclay’s eyes that sent heat coursing through his veins. “Hell no,” he said, flicking the headlights off.

The forest around them was plunged into thick, impenetrable darkness. He heard Barclay let out a shuddering breath. “Stern’s definitely gonna be mad if we mess up his car,” he whispered.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Ned paused, and added, “Dear.”

Barclay’s eyes gleamed in the shadows.

* * *

_March 7th, 2019_

_Amnesty Lodge_

The drumming of his fingers was the only sound in Amnesty Lodge’s main room. Gary stared blankly at the sunlight glancing off the coffee table. His fingers tapped out a restless rhythm on the sofa arm.

Only a month and a half ago, Gary had been laid out on this exact couch, frozen within an inch of his life after getting launched into the river by the spell on Indrid’s camper. They’d gotten him defrosted, and he’d taken a soak in the hot springs to  _really_ make sure he’d be fine (which hadn’t been the best idea, but he just wanted to get warm, and nobody was about to stop him). Yet sometimes his mind would wander. A cold, stark realization would sweep over him, sending chills down into his bones, like he’d been tossed back into that cold water. And Gary would remember.

He’d been right. He’d been right this whole time. Cryptids were real, Bigfoot and Mothman were real, and there was a whole silent war going on right under his nose this entire time.

Gary put his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do now? He knew now that this whole time, he and his uncle had been right on the money. They’d been so fucking right this entire time. Bigfoot, Mothman, the Loch Ness Monster, vampires, ghosts - they all existed, and all just three hours away from his hometown of Clarksburg, West Virginia.

And what was he supposed to do with that?

These - these  _people_  were so… prepared for whatever could happen. They’d been able to throw him off the scent for months. And, frankly, now that he knew a member of his family was tied up in all this… well.  He’d heard his mom talking about wanting to make things right with her sister’s side of the family, before she’d passed. Family was family. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t betray Duck like that. It wasn’t his way.

But he still had a duty to the force. To Unexplained Phenomena. He had a job to do. And yet - and not for the first time, these past few months - Gary felt a twinge of doubt deep in his chest. He wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. If he didn’t do his job - if he wasn’t an  _agent,_ if he wasn’t Agent Garfield Kent Stern, serial number 37912 - who was he?

What was he supposed to do with his life now?

Then he heard slow, solid footsteps. Gary glanced up through his fingers and saw Mama, the Lodge’s proprietor, sit down across the coffee table from him. “What is it?” he said, trying to ignore how hollow his voice sounded.

“Couldn’t help but pop my head in,” Mama said gently. “You’re lookin’ a bit… down in the dumps, you need anything?”

He cringed, leaning back into the couch. His hands wrung nervously in his lap. “You can’t - you can’t just say that,” he whispered. Talking was hard for him; his words still sometimes got lost between brain and mouth, coming out slow and stilted. Mama was patient. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, but -”

“Yeah, I am,” Mama said simply. “ ‘Scuse me for bein’ hospitable and all. I get that it’s hard for you, though, mister, and I just wanna -”

“You don’t even know -”

“- help you - sorry, what’s that?”

Gary didn’t realize he’d spoken until it was too late. “Uh.”

“What don’t I know, Gary?”

Hearing his name made him swallow. “Well - you don’t have. You don’t have any reason to be nice to me.”

“Try me,” Mama said, raising an eyebrow.

“I came here to - you don’t even know wh- why I was here,” Gary said, staring at her.

“Enlighten me, then.” Mama folded her hands in her lap and looked at him patiently.

There was nothing Gary could do but explain. It wasn’t like he was in any shape to run and avoid the conversation. “I - wasn’t here just to look for Bigfoot - Barclay - uh.” Gary swallowed. “Though that was, y’know. A big part of it. But, my - my uncle Arnie, he… he saw Mr. Cold at the Kennedy assassination, back in ‘63, and… God, this is gonna s-sound bad.”

“Just spit it out, hon,” Mama said. “I’ve heard a lot of shit in my life, you’re not gonna hurt my feelings.”

Gary nodded, looking back down at his twisting hands. “UP had a mission,” he said quietly. “They were… trying to prevent things before they started. Cut down on crime, follow the economy closer, and all that. Uncle Arnie told us every Christmas and every damn time he came over about this… guy he met, who was able to tell him exactly when the president was going to die, and who was going to shoot him, and I thought… this is exactly what they need. And - and when my uncle gave me Indrid’s glasses, I. I put them on.”

Mama inclined her head slightly.

“I was - what, eight, nine years old. Put them on in the bathroom, turned into the guy in an instant. Never did it again, scared the bejeezus out of me. But it - but it told me I was on the right track. I kept them, all these years. So I - I got myself assigned to the case, and then I was put on the Bigfoot one, and… here I am, I guess.”

He didn’t realize how the words had been pouring out of him, until he stopped.

“Hm.”

Mama sat in silence for a bit, thinking about something. Then she gave him a faint smile, pulled something out of her pocket, and slid it  across the table towards him. Gary’s stomach lurched.

Sitting on the coffee table was an embroidered patch, a green pine tree silhouetted against an orange-and-red sunset.

He stared at her. “I can’t take this,” he breathed. “I can’t. I - I could have done horrible things to you people, I can’t -”

“You, Mister Stern,” Mama said, “might not have noticed this, but we don’t exactly have a lot o’ folks on our side here. You plannin’ on runnin’ to the FBI anytime soon?”

It was an automatic response - there was no way he was going to say “yes” in front of the very people he’d been investigating - but he couldn’t help but feel a fragment of truth stirring in his chest. “No,” he said, in a small voice.

“Well, then.” She tapped the patch with one finger. “I just wanna say. You’ve got options. You ever change your mind, you let me know.”

“Why?”

And Mama gave him a soft smile. “Your journey ain’t over yet, Gary,” she said. “You still got greatness in you. There’s more’n one way to cross a river. Just gotta find the right bit o’ shore. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t mind keepin’ an eye on you, regardless. You got skills that some of us here don’t have, and knowledge that normal people don’t.” She stood up. “Just sayin’. You let me know, if you make up your mind.”

Gary stared at the patch on the table as she walked out. Its threads gleamed faintly in the dim sunlight. With slightly shaking fingers, he picked it up and held it up to the light.

* * *

The months dragged on: February, into March, into April. They fought two more abominations and came away a little worse for wear, but otherwise okay. And all the while, memories trickled back along the wire to each of them.

One night, Barclay found himself wondering about the weather in Sedalia, if it was safe to return to Louisville. He froze in the kitchen as a map unfolded in his head, names and places sparking recognition in him, like a dusty old computer rebooted after decades. Jake found him staring blankly at the wall, the pork chops starting to singe in their pan, and quietly reached past him to turn off the heat.

Dani woke with the taste of caramels and rain on her tongue. That, now, was familiar - but the slew of names to go with the rakish face she’d seen in Woodstock was not. Jebediah Leeds. Simon Oates. Damian Brownstone. She pressed her hands to her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, as the face of her sister swam forth from the rain.

In late March, Jake fell asleep in front of the TV while bingeing the original  _Star Wars_ trilogy, long into the night. Mama heard his empty popcorn bowl clatter to the ground and went into the main room. He was passed out, down for the count, and snoring softly - but the credits of  _Return of the Jedi_ were rolling. Mama stared at the jittery, soft-edged electric blue letters and let the music fill her until she overflowed.

Jake himself felt as if he stood before a massive wall the size of a billboard. Each night, he dreamt of it; and it was as if an invisible hand pinned something new on it each time he closed his eyes. A hundred years of memories. His oldest were the first to return. In his dreams, before this bulletin board, it was as if he was building a museum timeline exhibit of himself. Leading towards some inevitable conclusion: the end of the line. And what would that be? What would it?

He dreamed of his parents and falling snow, and a great shattered crystal piercing an ash-grey sky.

* * *

Puzzles are not perfect.

Even when they’re assembled, they’re still in pieces, in a way. Run your fingers over one and feel the bumps: there, below the doll’s eyes or through the tree’s branches or slashing through the printed ocean waves. That does not make it a flaw. It reminds you where it came from - it reminds you exactly what makes it whole.

Indrid still wrote in his journal every day, after every meal and before he went to bed. He wrote and wrote until he ran out of pages - and then in the margins, and then on the inside of the front cover, until Duck bought him a massive stack of hardcover journals and sketchbooks. Leo was happy to sell them, and always kept the stationary section of his store fully stocked.

Duck couldn’t look out the back windows at the lake anymore. Every time he did, he felt pain ripple up his spine, felt brackish water pool in his lungs. Indrid bought some blinds from the general store and put them up, and mused about asking the landlord to let them install a skylight. Duck just put his head on Indrid’s shoulder and said nothing.

Dani had given every memory of her sister away; they were still returning, and with each memory that came back, the absence of the rest became sharper. She still found it hard to speak to Indrid sometimes. She still paused in the middle of a sentence, as if waiting for a punchline that never came, before finishing her sentence in a quiet voice and falling silent. Aubrey always tried to be there for her, to fill the void at her side, but she knew that she could never be there the way Evelyn had. And that was alright. She wasn’t trying to replace Evelyn; that wasn’t her job. But it still hurt.

Ned sometimes paused at the door of the Cryptonomica and stared out into the street, his mind a blur, wondering if he couldn’t remember things because he was getting old, or because of something more sinister. But he had the monument of the Cryptonomica at his back. There was a man at the Lodge - or in his bedroom, on Saturdays - who loved him, and the Pine Guard got together every other full moon to fuck up the bom-boms. He had a purpose. He had a future. He had made peace with himself, and despite everything, he still had time.

Barclay still got nervous every time an unfamiliar car drove into town. Bonus points if it was unmarked and black. Stern noticed and slapped a “Kepler Ski Resort” sticker on both front doors of his sedan, so they’d be able to tell it was him when he came back from Starbucks runs in Snowshoe. Even though the Snowshoe locals gave him hell for it; the rivalry was still strong. He was making himself useful. They were all grateful for that. The man was one of them, now, like it or lump it; he was Duck’s cousin, which practically guaranteed him a spot in the Lodge Family. And aside from that, Stern shared their pain - he knew what it was like to be unmade. He understood them far too well.

Of all of them still living at the Lodge, Stern had the most unique, most terrifying version of events. He was the only one who had heard the thing speak, its consciousness pressed flush against his, and seen its form in his mind’s eye. He’d fought back and paid the price. Stern still stumbled over his words - he still seemed like he marveled at being able to hear his own voice. He still avoided dark alleys, and never turned his back to a room when he walked in.

As time went on, he got closer with the Lodge residents as best he could. He hunted down Barclay and formally apologized to him, once. He gave Indrid back his first pair of glasses. He cautiously reached out to the other Sylphs, who might not have been eager to make friends but were at least willing to pretend.

And one day in early April, he went to Mama's office and shut the door. They spoke for a long, long time - but anyone who peered through the glass in the door would have seen Mama shaking Stern's hand, smiling proudly at him. His FBI badge and gun lay on her desk, with a piece of paper with an official-looking seal on it. Once he stumbled out again, he looked like the proverbial bird that had been released from its cage. But Garfield Kent Stern was still himself, and always would be.

They were all healing. They were all puzzles, hastily reassembled; all porcelain vases, shattered and then rebuilt with gold in the cracks. They were healing.

* * *

Then one day, Duck got a phone call.

* * *

_April 20th_

_Lake Ridge Apartment Complex_

“Hello?”

_“Hey, Duck, it’s Jane.”_

Indrid’s head shot up. He kept writing in his journal, but raised an eyebrow at Duck. Duck cringed and sat down on the edge of his bed. Jane almost never called him - it was usually the other way around. She didn’t always have the time to sit down and make a call, but she was always willing to make time when her brother called. “Hey, Jane, how are you?” he said. “Is everythin’ alright?”

 _“Oh, yeah, of course,”_ Jane said.  _“No - everything’s fine, I just… I’m coming home in a couple days.”_

“Oh, holy shit! That’s - wow, how come?”

 _“Renee and I think we’ve reached a good stopping point,”_ Jane said. Her voice seemed… strange, as if she was trying to force her words out. Duck wound his finger around the telephone cord, feeling a strange sense of foreboding.  _“Besides - Renee wants to come back, she got a call about some family trouble, ‘n she wanted to - you know, help get that straightened out. Did you know her family lives in Snowshoe?”_

“Whoa, small world,” Duck said, surprised. “You two doin’ alright?”

 _“Doin’ real well,”_ Jane said softly. Now Duck could hear a smile in her voice.  _“I - we might stop in Kepler so you can meet her. Things are goin’ real well with her, and… uh.”_

She paused.

“And uh?” Duck said, expectantly. Jane made a dismissive noise, and he laughed a little. “You want her to meet me.”

There was a bit of silence.  _“Yeah,”_ Jane said, her voice almost a whisper.  _“Sorry, she’s, uh - takin’ a nap in the other room, she wanted to get some rest in before our flight.”_

“That’s fair. Hey - I feel like I know her already, Jane. She loves you, and you love her so, so much, and I just know she and I are gonna get along,” Duck said. “You’ve known each other for - hell, almost twelve years, now?”

_“Just about, yeah -”_

“Well -” Duck cleared his throat. “Between you and me,” he said quietly, “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering for twelve dozen more years for the both of you.”

Jane made an odd noise, like a mouse that had been stepped on.

“And you know what?” Duck said. He lifted his eyes to Indrid, who had stopped writing, and was listening to their conversation as he scratched Winnie’s ears. “I… y’all can meet Indrid, too. I told you ‘bout him a while back, and…” Indrid smiled gently at him. Duck beamed back. “And I think it’s workin’ out.”

 _“That’s great, Duck,”_ Jane said warmly.  _“I’m so happy for you. I’ll, uh - I’m flyin’ in to Norfolk on the 26th.”_

Indrid was mouthing something at him across the room. Duck frowned. “What?” he mouthed back.

“ _One of Renee’s friends from Snowshoe is gonna be drivin’ us up. We’ll make a pit stop in Kepler to say hi to y’all.”_

Indrid waved vaguely at the windows, in the general direction of the other side of Kepler. “Hang on, one sec, Jane -  _what?”_ Duck hissed at Indrid, covering the mouthpiece.

“They can come to the Lodge,” Indrid hissed back. “Then they can meet everyone else.”

“What? You sure?” Duck shook his head. “Indy, I don’t want my sister gettin’ mixed up in the whole… ya know, Pine Guard mess -!”

“I’m the Mothman, you can’t exactly throw a blanket over that little factoid and hide it in the corner!”

Duck winced. God, that was true; the whole Pine Guard thing was just the tip of the iceberg. He was dating the Mothman, for fuck’s sake. Most of his friends were cryptids, or tied up with them in one way or another, and Jane was sharp as a whole drawer full of knives. She would probably figure it out. But would it really be easier to just… tell her?

In his ear, Jane said,  _“Uh, Duck? You there?”_

Duck flinched and uncovered the mouthpiece. “Yeah, still here. Uh - tell you what. Remember Amnesty Lodge?”

_“Yeah?”_

“My - partner, he an’ I’ve got a bunch of friends there that y’all can meet too. They’re real chill people.”

_“Oh, I bet! Lookin’ forward to it. I’ll see you then, Duckard.”_

“Sure thing, Janeway,” Duck said, grinning. “Happy 4/20, by the way.” At the desk, Indrid snickered.

_“Oh, shut up. I love you.”_

“Love you too.”

* * *

And when they delivered the news, the Lodge was whipped up into a  _frenzy._ Duck’s sister was coming home,  _Duck’s sister was coming home,_ and to the Lodge, no less - which, despite its rustic hospitality, had gotten kind of grody and grimy over the years. And she was bringing a Snowshoe native home. God. It went unspoken that they had to make the best of impressions on this girl, whoever she was, because Jane was Duck’s sister, and everyone wanted them to be happy.

They had six days to get the place fixed up. They could do this.

Layers of dust came off the walls. Everything metal was polished within an inch of its life. Barclay changed all the lightbulbs, especially the ones in the rustic chandelier hanging over the main room. Indrid enlisted Duck’s help to mop the wood floors. Vanessa stopped by every now and then with her Jeep full of cleaning supplies, or just to stay and chat with Mama.

A couple of times, Duck stuck his head out onto the back porch and saw Mama and Vanessa on the newly-repaired porch swing. They were holding hands, resting their heads against each other. He pulled back and left them alone after that.

Even Stern made himself useful; there was a painting hanging above the fireplace that was absolutely encrusted with grime, but he pulled the thing off and got to work, stripping the old varnish with a very delicate cleaning solution he picked up in Charleston. “I’ve learned things,” he said plainly, plopping the thing on the dining room table. “Watch, I’ll get this done in no time.”

From his perch on a footstool, Barclay flinched. “Shit, wait, no,” he said hurriedly, dropping the Swiffer duster he’d been using in the ceiling corners. It almost hit Dani on the way down. “You don’t have to -”

“No, no, I can do it,” Stern said, pulling on some latex gloves with the air of a world-class surgeon. Barclay flinched as the gloves snapped on. “This is kid stuff. I’ll take care of it.”

He wasn’t quite so proud of himself when he’d cleaned off the yellowed varnish, revealing the painting’s subject: Barclay himself, about a century younger, dressed in pioneer garb and with a  _very_ flattering set of facial hair to match. Aubrey took one look at it and laughed so hard, she fell over and hit her head on the doorframe. “Oh, my  _God,”_ she wheezed. “Look - look, Stern, you finally found Bigfoot!” And it was credit to how things had changed around here that Barclay started laughing. Stern slowly covered his face with his hands.

Mama chuckled. “Ol’ Sparrow did that, in the 40’s,” she said fondly. “1840s. Sometimes keep forgettin’ how old you are, Barclay.”

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Barclay muttered.

“Just sayin’! Knowin’ that you actually sat for that thing back in the day makes me laugh. They’re quite an artist, lemme tell you that. Vanessa taught ‘em a few things -” She paused, and glanced around. “Damn, that reminds me - anyone see Ness ‘round lately?”

“She should be by later today,” Jake said, grabbing a can of Sprite from the fridge. “I told her to bring snacks, we’re running low on stuff that isn’t Top Ramen,  _Aubrey.”_

“What?” Aubrey said defensively. “It’s good stuff, okay?” Jake just opened his can of Sprite, sipped from it, and left the kitchen without a world.

The days vanished faster than Duck thought they would, but they still finished right on schedule; that Friday morning, the Lodge was practically spotless. It still looked lived-in, thanks to the dirty dishes Ned left on the coffee table and the blankets strewn on the couches from Aubrey and Dani’s  _Lord of the Rings_ marathon. But despite the mess it was incredibly clean.

Indrid glanced around the room; he was wearing one of Duck’s Tybee Island T-shirts and some ratty old jeans, and everything was stained faint blue with dish soap from an unknown spill. But he was smiling and looking around proudly - still out of place in the Lodge, but looking more and more like he belonged. “Well,” he commented. “This looks  _nice.”_

“Sure does,” Duck said. He put a hand on Indrid’s shoulder. “Y’all did a pretty good job in here, I bet the place hasn’t been this clean in years.” Indrid reached up and squeezed his hand, and they smiled at each other.

Barclay threw himself into the armchair across the room and closed his eyes, scowling as Ned passed by and messed up his hair. Every Sylph in the place was in the Lodge’s main room, slumped on couches or lying on the floor or just leaning in a corner. They’d been working hard all day, and Duck could feel the weariness in the air, mixing with the sharp bite of Pine-Sol and the breeze blowing in through the open windows.

“I’m hungry,” Dani said, staring at the ceiling. Her head was in Aubrey’s lap.

“Yeah, me too,” Aubrey said. “Should we have some lunch, or…?”

“Hell yeah,” Ned said. Duck winced as the man ran right into the phone table - which they’d moved a bit to mop the floor - and stubbed his toe on the leg, almost knocking the phone onto the floor. “Jesus  _fuck -”_

“I’ll see if I can whip something up,” Barclay sighed, heaving himself out of the chair. “Ned, be a dear and help me out.”

“I can’t cook for shit!”

“You made me biscuits and gravy for lunch on Saturday, you old coot, after -”

“Okay, alright, alright, alright,” Ned said, waving his hands wildly. Dani groaned quietly and covered her face. “You drive a hard bargain, Jesus Christ. I’ll help, I’ll help.” Barclay ushered Ned into the kitchen, turning and giving the rest of the room a thumbs-up.

“I kinda feel bad for not helping him,” Dani said, not moving from Aubrey’s lap. Indrid squeezed Duck’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen.

“Well,” he heard Aubrey say thoughtfully. “There  _is_  a lot of ramen in the pantry.”

Nobody noticed that the phone had fallen off its hook.

* * *

In Norfolk International Airport, two women sat at a table in the Starbucks at Concourse B.

“He’s not picking up,” said Jane, hanging up. “Went straight to voicemail.”

Renee nodded slowly, drumming her fingers against the side of her coffee cup. A small bubble of coffee swelled from the little hole in the lid; she squeezed her cup until it popped. “Maybe he’s out,” she said softly. Jane nodded slowly, watching her partner out of the corner of her eye. Renee had been unusually quiet these past couple of days; she was like a hole punched out of the world, grey and fraying around the edges. That was part of the reason why Jane decided to call it quits a bit early. Renee needed to come home; she couldn’t stand to see her like this.

“Try the Lodge, maybe?” Renee suggested.

“I did,” Jane said. “No answer there, either. Guess we’ll just have to surprise them, then.”

Renee grimaced. She swiped one finger through the whipped cream on Jane’s caramel frappuccino and licked it off; Jane gave her a bland look, and for the briefest of seconds, Renee smiled. She still seemed troubled, though - her eyes were slightly unfocused. As if she was seeing something in another world that Jane herself couldn’t.

Jane cleared her throat softly. “Who’s gonna be picking us up again - your parents? The ones we met at graduation?”

“They weren’t my parents,” Renee said quietly. “They just… looked after me for a while. And -” Renee’s phone buzzed. “Oh, shit, that’s her.” She snatched it up. “Hello?”

Jane could hear a soft, vaguely familiar voice speaking on the other end.

“Yeah, we’re here. Where’d you park?”

They left the concourse and headed for the parking lot; waiting outside the drop-off zone was a battered, dark green Jeep splattered with mud.

* * *

For lunch - to go with Barclay’s sandwiches - Aubrey had thrown some ramen, chicken, leftover veggies and soy sauce in a giant pot and stir-fried it all; she said it was a dish her mom used to make all the time to use up leftovers. Saved her life on the road, too - ramen was cheap in basically every grocery store, and marked-down vegetables were almost everywhere. It was a good meal that gave her energy before shows.

Whatever the case, it was good. Everyone loved it; Barclay got Aubrey to scribble it down on a notecard so he could put it in his recipe box, which seemed like it was the highest of honors to Aubrey. She hadn’t stopped beaming all day.

Long after lunch was over, they lingered around the big dining room table in the Lodge. They’d unearthed some games while cleaning out some cabinets in the main rooms - Clue, a chessboard, what looked like a  _Dungeons and Dragons_ manual for the Tomb of Horrors, and a Scrabble board - and were making the best of it. Dani, Leo and Stern were poring over the Tomb of Horrors manual, and Duck had Indrid beat at Scrabble, which was a surprising development. It helped that he knew a whole bunch of words from his job; he’d gotten a bunch of points just off of using plants’ Latin names and climbing terminology.

Indrid wasn’t pleased.

“ ‘Belay’ isn’t a word,” he said sourly.

“Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not. That’s just ‘delay’ spelled wrong.”

“Come on, you can make it,” Jake shouted down the table.

“Hold still!” Aubrey yelled back. “Stop moving around!” She tossed a hard-boiled egg in her hands a couple of times and slowly lifted it, lining up her shot. Duck slowly scooted his chair away from the table. Next to him, so did Indrid, but not after carefully laying down the word  _yakuza_.

“That’s - is that a word?” Duck said, bewildered.

“A 22-point word for Japanese gangsters,” Indrid said simply. “It’s definitely a word. Unlike  _belay.”_

Across the table, Ned and Barclay fiddled with the chessboard; it looked like Barclay was winning. “Belay’s a word, Indrid,” Barclay said, taking one of Ned’s bishops. Ned cursed. “It’s a climbing technique.”

“Oh. Huh. Learn something every day.”

“Of course you can say that, you just got 22 points -”

“Jake, stop moving around!” Aubrey said.

“Just throw the thing!”

Aubrey tossed the egg, underhand, across the table - and Jake caught it right in his mouth. He punched the air with both fists. Everyone around the table cheered. Mama glanced up from her book, shook her head fondly, and looked back down.

Jake spat out the egg, and a couple fragments of shell. “That wasn’t peeled!” he shrieked. Duck snorted. Barclay put his head in his hands, laughing silently.

“Sorry! I -”

* * *

And the woods are dark and deep, shadows thick as moss beneath the pines. The sun is low on the horizon. It is late afternoon, and the Monongahela National Forest is peaceful and quiet. Crisp wind rattles the branches.

An old Jeep, battered and splattered with mud so thick that nobody would be able to tell that it is painted green, drives up Kepler’s main street. The windows are up. Faint snatches of music can still be heard; it is turned up all the way, but none of the three people in the truck are singing along to the words. They are silent, staring straight ahead.

* * *

“Jane’s almost here,” Indrid said suddenly.

The entire table fell silent to stare. “She’s here?” Duck said numbly. “What - how did -”

Indrid swallowed. “She’ll… be here in about one minute,” he said. His visions were starting to return to the strength they had been last December - still erratic, still muddled, but it was something. There was a strange look in his eyes, as if he had seen something confusing, or terrifying, or both.  “She’s - she’s with Vanessa.”

Mama put her book down. “Vanessa’s the one drivin’ them up?” she said, both eyebrows raised. “That - hang on, I thought Renee’s friend was from  _Snowshoe,_ Vanessa’s not -”

Duck felt a strange sense of foreboding crawl up his spine, and he stood up.

The sound of an approaching car echoed up the road to the Lodge, and he stumbled to the door - Indrid threw out a hand a split second too early, keeping him from tripping over his own chair on the way. He squeezed Indrid’s hand and kept going. Behind him, he sensed the rest of the Lodge stirring: chairs scraped against the floor, someone stumbled into the table and made the dishes rattle, he heard uneasy whispers.

Outside, a car door slammed, and Duck found himself walking faster to the door. He shoved the front door open, and sunlight streamed past him and into the Lodge’s main room. There was a battered, mud-splattered green Jeep parked outside. A woman was running towards the front door. “Oh, my God,” he breathed.

She had Dani’s face. This woman had  _Dani’s face -_

“Dani!” the woman shouted. Behind her, Duck could see Jane slowly getting out of the Jeep, one hand outstretched, as if trying to stop her.

A dish shattered inside. The Lodge’s front door crashed open, and Duck turned in time to see Dani race out and nearly fall down the stairs, her face twisted and panicked, as if… as if she’d seen a ghost -

Jane said, “What the -”

“Dani?” the woman called out again, her voice shaking, and now that Duck could see her up close he knew - oh God, he knew for  _sure -_

Dani screamed,  _“Evelyn!”_

The name echoed off the trees. Duck dove out of the way just in time for Dani to crash into Evelyn’s arms, hugging her so tight and burying her face in her sister’s shoulder, shaking and sobbing, and Duck couldn’t tell where one sister ended and the other began. Evelyn - because it was her, it  _had_ to be her, no matter how impossible it was - closed her eyes and gently rested her head on Dani’s shoulder, her face twisted with relief. Dani wound her arms around her sister and just cried, and cried.

Then Duck heard someone almost fall down the stairs and looked up - there was Barclay, charging towards them both like a linebacker, and Evelyn looked up just as he flung his arms around them both. Duck saw them open up the circle. And then there was Jake, and Lex, and a handful of other Sylphs that Duck could not remember, all crushing Evelyn in a tight embrace. He couldn’t even see her through the mass of Sylvans.

“You’re home,” he heard Barclay say hoarsely, voice shaking. “You’re  _home.”_

“I’m home,” Evelyn whispered back.

Duck looked past them and saw, in the Jeep’s driver’s seat, Vanessa sitting with one hand on the wheel. Her eyes were closed, and Duck thought he saw a tear glistening on her cheek.

They all drifted away from Evelyn like leaves in a pond, still hanging close to her, a hand on her arm or looped around her waist or gripping her hand, as if she would dissolve and vanish the minute they let go. Aubrey, Mama and Ned were standing on the porch; Ned looked confused and a bit terrified, and Aubrey had both hands pressed to her mouth in shock. She looked like she was trying not to cry. Mama was gripping Aubrey’s shoulder as if she was the only thing holding her up.

And then, behind Mama, Duck saw a shock of silver hair in the doorway.

Indrid shuffled out of the doorway as if stumbling through a dream; he had to lean on the doorway for support, as he stared into the courtyard with his mouth hanging open. A quiet hush fell over the area outside the Lodge. Indrid plodded down the steps and paused, far away from the group.

Then Evelyn tore herself away from the others. She marched right up to him, spread her arms, and folded him into a hug. It was as if a breath was released in the courtyard, the tension rushing out of it and into the late afternoon air.

“I’m sorry,” Duck heard Indrid say softly.

“It’s okay,” Evelyn said. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m going to, anyway.”

“You knew.”

Mama’s voice suddenly cut through the silence. Duck looked up, and saw Mama glaring at Vanessa, who had left the car and slowly approached the front of the Lodge. “You knew,” she said again, her voice shaking. She pointed at Vanessa. “You knew, this whole time, and you didn’t say a single  _word -”_

Vanessa began, “I -”

“You better have a damn good explanation for all this, or so help me, Vanessa, I will throw you out on your ass and send you back to Berkeley Springs,” Mama snarled, her hands shaking. She gripped Aubrey’s shoulder even tighter, caught herself, and let go when Aubrey winced. “What did you  _do?”_

“She didn’t do anything, Mama.”

Evelyn’s voice cut through the silence, strong and unwavering. The woman lifted her chin and looked Mama in the eye. “She did what she had to,” she said firmly.

“She didn’t have to - to  _hide_ you from us, Evelyn,” Mama whispered. “We thought you were  _dead.”_

“And,” Evelyn said, wincing slightly, “I was.” Dani laced her fingers with her sister’s and squeezed, bowing her head to hide her tears. “I can explain. I really can.”

“Please do, for the love of God,” Mama said. And man, she was upset - Duck had never seen her this strained; the anger and grief in her eyes could bend steel. “Let’s go inside. You gotta tell us everything.”

They congregated in the Lodge’s main room, a huddled mass, perching awkwardly on the arms of sofas or the coffee table, or even just sitting sprawled on the floor. Stern had taken one look at the tension in the room and left, as if he didn’t feel like this was something he could be a part of. They would catch him up later, certainly, but he seemed to think that he wouldn’t be welcome, and nobody was willing to correct him.

Every face was turned towards Evelyn, as if they were kids in a library waiting for a story to be read to them. Though there was a brittle tension in the room that Duck couldn’t help but notice. Jane was sitting next to Evelyn, extremely confused and a bit panicked, and her presence as an outsider felt like it shifted everything about a foot to the left.

Naturally, though, Jane was the one to ask the first question. “...So,” she said slowly. Everyone jumped and looked at her. “This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, when I came back up here. I - I just don’t know where to start?”

“Join the club,” Duck said, making a face. “Man, I - I had no idea this was… Evelyn, you and Renee are -”

“The same person,” Evelyn said quietly. “I - there’s an explanation for that. Jane, hon -”

“Yeah?”

“These next few bits might not make a lot of sense, but I promise, I’ll explain everything, really,” she said softly. She squeezed Jane’s hand and looked her in the eye. “On Avi.”

“On Avi?” Jane whispered.

“On Avi.”

“Who’s Avi?” Dani said, frowning.

“He was our dog,” Jane said, pursing her lips. “In Honduras. He, uh… he died last August. We’d had him for all the years we were down there, and he meant a lot to us. Renee, you’re - you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” Evelyn said, her face pained. She squeezed Jane’s hand one last time and turned back to the room. “So… it’s a bit complicated, and it’s - it’s not all my story to tell, I still have some gaps - not, y’know, missing memories, just stuff that I wasn’t around to see.”

She lifted her eyes and nodded at Vanessa. The gulf between Vanessa and the rest of the room could have been oceans wide. “You want me to fill those in for you?” the woman said softly.

“Yeah,” Evelyn said. She swallowed. “Yeah. You can correct me on details I get wrong, or - chip in your two cents, or whatever.” Vanessa slowly drifted to Evelyn’s side and sank down into the chair. Mama’s eyes were like lightning.

Evelyn’s hands laced together and twisted in her lap. She looked at a smudge on the coffee table for a long, long time. At last she said, “The first thing I remember, after I fell, was… waking up in the back of a speeding truck. A man was driving - I didn’t remember this at the time, but we, we all knew him as Peter. Or Joe, or Jeb, Shane, Luke, Colin, Simon.”

Barclay’s mouth slowly fell open.

“But when he… when he found me, I guess, he was going by a different name.” Evelyn took a deep breath and said, “Back then, he was calling himself Boyd. Boyd Mosche.”

There was silence.

Then Ned’s mug of tea shattered on the ground. Everyone flinched. “What,” he said flatly.

* * *

Evelyn met Boyd Mosche for the second time on the banks of Hills Creek, in 1998.

The first was back in ‘67, when Mama brought him by the scruff of his neck to Amnesty Lodge, with a sheepish-looking, shrimp-coated Barclay and Indrid in tow. Boyd - then going by Jebediah Leeds, which he changed to Simon Oates after about five years of Lodge living and 60’s music - had been a scrappy, terrifying scarecrow of a man. You could tell by looking at him that he’d been down some rough roads. You could almost believe that if he pulled off his charmed ring, he would turn into a great misshapen beast, all tooth and claw and great flapping wings. Enough to scare scrambled eggs out of a laying chicken.

At the Lodge, they’d tried to pull him back onto the straight and narrow. If accounts of the Jersey Devil’s M.O. in the 18th and 19th centuries were true, Boyd had blood on his hands. He’d murdered, kidnapped, stolen. He was by no means a good man. And not everyone was sure he could be redeemed. Vanessa, who’d known him back in Sylvain, seemed convinced  at the time that he could be. It had just been time on Earth, away from hot springs to recharge his stolen Sylvan crystal, that had twisted him into what he was. The crystals could only do so much.

Amnesty Lodge had done their best with what they had. They curbed his sticky fingers and more bloodthirsty tendencies. Dani and Evelyn hauled him to Woodstock in ‘69, back when he and Barclay were a thing. (Barclay and Ned were very studiously trying not to look at each other.) They tried to tie him to the world, so he didn’t go rampaging off to destroy it. And it worked, miraculously enough.

Until the Ashminder attacked him.

He must have tried to hold on to what they’d taught him, at the Lodge, because that was the first to leave him. He must have tried to convince himself that he was worth saving, that survival was worth it, because he’d changed, damn it, and the past thirty years had been the proof.

“The past thirty years were the first to go down the drain, too,” Evelyn said grimly. “There was only so much he could save. Someone - I wanna say Jeff - managed to pull it off him, but it’d already taken everything that mattered. He went running off into the woods, and… and I didn’t see him, until everything’d been taken from my mind too.”

That was when she met him for the second first time. June, 1998, mere moments after she’d plunged off the waterfall to her apparent death.

At the time, she didn’t know it was him, because she was unconscious and had a serious concussion and had lost the past hundred years of her life to a memory-sucking abomination. But when she woke in the back seat of a stolen pickup truck, hurtling towards Berkeley Springs, it was only right of her to ask.

 _Boyd,_ he’d said, after a long pause. As if he’d been digging for something to say. That was all he gave her; the “Mosche” didn’t come along for five more years.

“Still not sure what his motivations were,” Evelyn said, sipping from the mug of tea that Barclay had pressed into her hands. After Ned had dropped his, Barclay had gone for a spare, and in a haze of nervous energy he’d impulsively decided to make enough for everyone. It had been an awkward seven or eight minutes of silence. “Still don’t know what… what changed, if anything. Guess deep down, part of him wanted to do good. He’d been a good man before the Ashminder got him. Some of that might’ve stuck, long enough to save my life.”

“Might,” Vanessa muttered.

Evelyn gave her a sharp look. “You were looking for him,” she said tersely. “After he’d been attacked.” Vanessa grimaced and looked away. “I get it if you don’t like him as much anymore, but - but come on, Vanessa, back then things were different.”

Vanessa had been searching for him, after the second Ashminder attack had taken both his and Mama’s memories. A Jersey Devil, lost and panicked and afraid with two hundred years of blood on his talons and three decades of memories down the drain, would have laid waste to the countryside. She had to rein him in before people got hurt.

But he found Evelyn first. Vanessa suspected that he’d been tracking the Pine Guard at the time, not knowing who they were anymore but still suspicious enough to want to see what they were doing. And something told him that Evelyn, when he found her, was worth saving.

* * *

“Her disguise item is that earring,” Vanessa said, pointing at Evelyn’s ear. Evelyn sheepishly pulled away her hair, revealing a gold hoop in her cartilage. “When Boyd brought her to my shop, out in Berkeley Springs, it was looking gnarly, so I fixed it up and put it back in. And -”

Vanessa swallowed. “And I set it permanently,” she said softly. “Charmed it so it would never come off.”

Mama exhaled sharply, through gritted teeth. “You what,” she said. “Vanessa -” Moira turned and silently left the room.

“There was nothing that could be done,” Evelyn said, quietly, her gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I wasn’t lucid then. I didn’t know my name, my age, my sister, what my own face looked like, I didn’t know anything. Dropping my Sylph-ness into my lap would have driven me insane.”

She lifted her eyes. “That’s what happened to Morgan,” she said to Mama. “Remember? We tried to tell her who she was, but the sound of her own name was too much like her Sylvan form that her brain couldn't handle it. She... You remember what happened to her, afterwards, right?”

Mama cringed, as if she’d been struck in the chest by the memory. Aubrey didn’t know who or what Morgan was, but her heart still ached. The Ashminder had left many scars on the Pine Guard back then. There were nearly thirty memorials in the Cryptonomica. She could do the math.

* * *

Weeks turned into months, which turned into years.

“At some point I was… trying to figure everything out,” Evelyn said. “I don’t - Vanessa wasn’t tellin’ me anything, and Boyd was in no shape to tell me either. He was too busy. He’d holed up in Ness’s tattoo parlor, doing odd jobs in the shop and down at the hot springs. I think he’d picked up the violin again; he’d been learning to play, before the Ashminder, and I guess that gave him some kind of peace.”

“So - the three of y’all were just… living out there?” Dani said faintly. “In Berkeley Springs, this entire time?”

Evelyn swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Aubrey said. “That’s a hell of a sitcom.”

Duck, and everyone else in the room, stared at her. “What?” she said. “I just - I thought, you know, Loch Ness monster, Jersey Devil, and a vampire, all living in the same house, that’d be… I dunno -”

She stopped as Evelyn started giggling. “Holy shit, you’re right,” she said, shaking her head. “Come to think of it, that sure is funky. Coming soon to the CW, the new hit sitcom  _My Nessie, My Devil, and Me.”_  Vanessa huffed a laugh, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

Next to Evelyn, Jane was starting to look a bit pale. Duck frowned at her; she met his eyes and gave him an imperceptible shrug, which was Jane-speak for  _I’m totally fucking lost._  Evelyn noticed and lost her smile, squeezing Jane’s hand again. “I’m sorry, hon,” she whispered. “I - this is a lot, I -”

“No, by all means, go on,” Jane said faintly, in a tone that suggested she thought she was dreaming. “I have no idea what the hell is going on, but it’s a hell of a story.” She cleared her throat, and grabbed a glass of water off the tray that Barclay had brought from the kitchen. “While - that reminds me, if all this is true… how the hell did you get from here out to Columbia?”

 _“Columbia?”_ Jake squeaked. “Holy shit, Evelyn, what the fuck -”

“Yeah, getting there,” Evelyn said. “I guess - after a while, I started getting curious. I didn’t know why I  _was_ the way I was, and I wanted to know why.”

“So, as usual,” Mama said wryly, “you decided to go the whole nine yards and get into one of the priciest fuckin’ colleges on the East Coast.”

“For cognitive psychology,” Duck heard himself say. Evelyn glanced at him, eyebrows raised - and then she seemed to remember that her girlfriend was Duck’s sister, and Duck knew almost as much about her life as Renee as she did. “And - and, uh -”

“Anthropology,” Jane supplied.

“Yeah, that.”

“Yeah, the, uh… anthropology bit came a bit later,” Evelyn said, looking sidelong at Jane. Jane seemed like she was stifling a smile. “ _Someone_ here was at Columbia with me, and I met her at GSA, and got inspired enough to add anthropology as another major.”

“You’re welcome,” Jane said, nudging her in the ribs. “But psychology. That’s your thing, mostly.”

“Yeah - I wanted to study the human brain - specifically so I could try to figure out mine, and get a grip on just why I couldn’t remember huge chunks of my life.”

“Makes sense,” Indrid said, nodding. Duck glanced at him, a bit startled; his partner had been so quiet that he’d almost forgotten he was there. “I would have done the same thing. But - how’d you manage it? I don’t think any of us exist on paper, per se -”

“Makes dodging taxes very efficient,” Jake muttered. Barclay gave him a frosty glare.

“Yeah,” Evelyn sighed. “That - that was Boyd, he pulled some shit behind the scenes.” Her smile faded a bit. “Come to think of it, I don’t know just how many strings he pulled,” she said quietly.

“Enough to matter,” Vanessa said, “but not enough that he takes more credit than you. You got into that place all on your own merit. You earned every score on every test you took. You didn’t buy or cheat your way in, and Boyd didn’t do it for you either.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

So Evelyn buckled down. It was her choice to want to go to college; she didn’t have to, but she wanted to learn, to study, to find things out for herself. She got her GED, she read up on history and science and all other typical public-school fare. Vanessa taught her history; Boyd taught her writing, how to structure arguments and tear them apart with a glance, because if there was anything a devil knew how to do, it was turn a quick phrase and make it truth.

“Writing,” she quoted, and Ned felt a twinge deep down in his chest as he heard words that Boyd had told him dozens of times, “is the art of lying so convincingly the whole world believes you.”

He was good at lying, that was for sure. Boyd and Vanessa worked together to forge records for Evelyn; they listed themselves as her parents on fake adoption papers, fake school records, fake permission slips for fake field trips, that Boyd disseminated so deeply into state records that it was as if they had always been there.

“You could look up my name in any database in the nation and find me,” Evelyn said. “The names were fake, of course, except for the last. I picked my first name. Vanessa and Boyd rock-paper-scissored for the last name, because I didn’t care whose I took.”

“Who won?” Mama said, raising an eyebrow.

Vanessa stayed silent.

“Boyd did, I assume,” Jane said. “Because when I met her, she was going by Renee Mosche.”

“Renee seemed fitting in a way,” Evelyn said. She glanced over at Vanessa. “Guess now I know why.”

One corner of Vanessa’s mouth lifted in a smile.

The name knocked some dust off a shelf in the corner of Ned’s mind, and he remembered strains of French from a time gone by. Renee.  _Reborn._

* * *

So Evelyn became Renee Mosche. She went to Columbia, met Jane, graduated by the skin of her teeth - the double major had almost been a mistake, but it had helped her meet Jane, and she wouldn’t have undone it for the world.

“Vanessa and Boyd went to our graduation in 2007,” Evelyn said. “Boyd… didn’t make it to the grad school one. Why was that?”

“He went rogue,” Vanessa said darkly. “He’d set his hopes on an audition for the Philly Symphony, and he didn’t make the cut. Took it real hard. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and then… he just packed it up and ran, went back to his old ways. I guess he didn’t think it was worth trying anymore. Last I heard of him, he’d been arrested for grand larceny and shoplifting, and he’s doing ten years in a prison a few counties away.”

Ned’s grip on his mug was so tight, it was a marvel that it hadn’t shattered. He and Boyd must have known each other well, Aubrey thought; perhaps they’d been partners in crime, or just friends or something, though the former certainly seemed more likely given what she knew of Ned’s past.

Jane grimaced. “Yeah. Grad school graduation was a bit frosty. Duck, you didn’t - you weren’t there, were you?”

“Yeah, no,” Duck said awkwardly. “I goobered that up, got real bad food poisoning the weekend of. Was a giant fuckin’ mess. And then job stuff kept me from gettin’ to the grad school one. I’m still sorry ‘bout that, you know -”

“I’ll make you watch the full graduation video in hell,” Jane said flatly. Duck laughed, though, so Aubrey didn’t think it was actually meant to be mean. “Yeah, yuk it up. Man, if you’d gone, you would’ve had a hell of a wake-up call when you met Vanessa this year.”

And wasn’t that just horrible luck. The room went silent as they realized the implications of that. If Duck had gone to that graduation, he might have seen Evelyn. He might have met Vanessa and Boyd; he might have recognized them all, and put two and two together, and just maybe might have been able to bring Evelyn home sooner. But things hadn’t shaken out that way. Fate really liked fucking with them all, Aubrey almost said, but thought better of it. Given current company, that might not have been the best thing to say.

“So,” Evelyn said in a small voice. “That’s - kind of it. I went to Honduras with Jane, because we’d gotten approval to do a long-term research project. And it was ten years where I didn’t know anything about you all, or the Pine Guard, or the Lodge - not until it started coming back to me, in bits and chunks, around the end of March.”

“That’s when it started happening to me, too,” Jake said. “The first memories it took, those finally came back a couple weeks ago.”

Evelyn nodded. “Yeah. It took time. I’m just - God, I’m so glad you all managed to put it in the dirt, I’m just…”

She trailed off. Jane squeezed her shoulder. Aubrey wondered just how Jane was handling all of this; her girlfriend, the love of her life from the sound of it, had just been revealed to be a totally different person with a past nearly beyond normal human comprehension. Nothing was the same anymore.

“Yeah,” Aubrey said. “We… we did what we could. I’m glad you’re back, Evelyn, we all are.”

Evelyn smiled faintly at her. “Me too,” she said.

Then she turned to Jane and said, “I’m sorry.” Jane blinked. “For not telling you sooner - but I didn’t know, I really didn’t know what was going on until a few weeks ago. It’s hard to believe, and I get it if you don’t think it’s true, but really -”

“Yeah,” Jane said. “It’s… a lot, I don’t -”

“Hang on.”

Barclay raised his hand, from where he was standing by Ned’s chair. “Do you, uh… do you want proof?”

The room went silent. Jake’s eyebrows flew up into his shaggy blond hair.

“Barclay,” Mama said in a warning voice.

“No, no, it’s my thing, I’m not pressurin’ anyone else into takin’ the leap,” Barclay said. “We’re all friends here. So, uh - here goes, I guess.”

Barclay fiddled with his bracelet and pulled it off - and standing next to Ned’s chair, in all his massive hairy glory, was Bigfoot himself. Jane’s eyes were the size of dinner plates.

“Yeah,” Dani said. “He’s - he’s Bigfoot.” As Jane’s eyes flickered to her, she slid off her ring, and her pointed ears, orange eyes, and sharp teeth flickered into view. “We’ve all got… somethin’. Most of us.”

Vanessa reached out and brushed her fingers lightly over Evelyn’s ear. Evelyn flinched, like she’d been zapped with static electricity - but then she slowly reached up and took out her earring, and Aubrey saw her Sylvan form: just like Dani’s, with the same eyes and teeth and ears, but somehow different all the same.

One by one, disguises came off around the room. Moira drifted straight through a wall and almost phased through Mama; Indrid carefully took off his necklace and morphed into the Mothman, the sudden flare of his wings nearly knocking Duck off the couch they shared; Jake fiddled with his paracord bracelet for a few seconds before unbuckling it, and the Yeti suddenly stood in his place, his shoulders bowed against a low ceiling beam.

Jane stared at them all - then looked desperately at Duck. Duck just shrugged. Then she covered her face with both hands and said into them, “Man, I knew that fuckin’ Bigfoot video was real.”

And they all laughed.

* * *

But this is not the end. It is the end of something, but it is not the end of all things. Nothing ever truly dies, as long as some live to speak its name; nothing ever truly ends, as long as there is someone to see it through.

Some things, time cannot mend. Some things are inevitable. Not all fates are created equal.

* * *

 

_In the stars, a fine mist drifts in space, pulsing all the colors of the rainbow and a thousand more besides that humans could not even dream of seeing. The stars wheel overhead, uncaring and absolute. The haze drifts - almost but not quite shapeless. Not quite there._

_Once it had a name. A face, a body, a brain. Now, it just... is._

_Time passes. Space stretches around the essence of the Ashminder’s soul. It slowly forms a shape, and synapses fire in its deep, nebulous mist. There is a hole in time that it drifts through; it emerges into a dark space. There is water and earth. In this timeless, dreamless space, nothing can see it but the eyes of silent, distant gods. The mist sits, it waits, it grows. It becomes solid. It becomes one of many._

_Somewhere a new color is tied on; the ends are woven in, and the knitting continues._

_They send out tendrils: they find information, consume it, breathing memories, tasting the winds of eons and the colors of dreams._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_An eternity later, there is a song on the wind: a song of hope._

_A man with large red sideburns and a tattered red robe wanders into the Voidfish's cave._

* * *

 

 _The Pine Guard will return in_ The Children of Sylvain _._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need context for Boyd Mosche as the Jersey Devil, as well as his relationship with Ned and the reason why that violin was so important to him, please give [The Devil Went Down To Georgia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181746) a read. 
> 
> Jukebox cues:  
> \- "Wake Up, Moving On" plays from the beginning to Jane's phone call  
> \- alternately, if you want something moodier, "Experience" plays in the same space  
> \- "Shine You No More" plays during the whole Lodge spring cleaning montage  
> \- fade into the climax of "Experience" as Evelyn comes home  
> \- "Love and Rage" plays while Vanessa and Evelyn are rehashing their past  
> \- "Bottom of the River" is just a mood piece for Evelyn's past  
> \- "Who Else Could I Be" is a mood piece for Vanessa, Evelyn, and Boyd. I can do a lyrics breakdown one of these days, if so desired.  
> \- "Mountains" plays over the italicized scenes, especially the Ned and Hollis ones. Though it works just as well silent.
> 
>  
> 
> So. TMWCIFTC is now complete. Bet y'all who figured out that Evelyn and Renee were the same person are feeling pleased as punch right now; I'm proud of you. But that's right, there's probably gonna be a sequel! Coming soon to an AO3 account near you. It's this one! Right here. It's very close. I've been hashing out the premise of it and coming up with a skeleton plot, and I'll devote some time to writing it out later. TMWCIFTC was never really meant to have a sequel, but there are some loose ends i realized in act 3 could use some tightening up. Hence, the sequel. It's taking a while and the going has been incredibly, excruciatingly slow, but I might publish it. We'll see.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with this story. I can't thank you enough for all your feedback, love and support; I had the time of my life writing this, and I'm looking forward to diving more into the TMWCIFTC alternate universe in the future. This story has been my rock for the past few months; writing it and hearing all your amazing feedback has gotten me through some tough times. I have some plans for the sequel that I'm still trying to rehash, but I think it's going to be good. 
> 
>  
> 
> I might also start planning a short fic, maybe two or three chapters, writing about Evelyn's life with Vanessa and Boyd, and the strange way their little family unit came together and fell apart. Mostly to fill in the gaps that the epilogue didn't, and also to give Boyd a little more context. As this last bit of the epilogue shows, he's going to be in the sequel if I write it - and he's going to be important.
> 
> If there are any extra things that you might want to see in the bonus content - questions you have, things you noticed, things you want clarification on, etc. - leave a comment or [send me an ask on my Tumblr.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com) I might not have answers for everything, but they'll be fun to think about! One of these days, I'm going to go comb through every single chapter and do a partial or full overhaul for grammar, punctuation, story cohesion, consistency, etc. etc. I wrote this without a beta, so a lot of things might have gone under the radar while I was focusing on the story. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Thanks to the McElroys for their amazing podcast. Thank you to John Roderick and the Long Winters for the use of their song "It's A Departure" off the album _Putting the Days to Bed_. And thank you, dear readers. See you in the comments, in my inbox, or when the sequel is finally published. Thank you all so, so much.


	19. Housekeeping Announcement - 6/11/2019

**IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT FOR OLD READERS: I'VE CHANGED THE EPILOGUE OF TMWCIFTC.** I completely eliminated the italicized scenes, except for the voidfish = ashminder bit. Everything else is intact. I wanted to give myself a better foundation to build on for the possible see I might do.

Future edits will be at a similar story/plot level. I will be primarily altering Jake's timeline, compressing it significantly, and also tidying up continuity errors and grammar/style slipups. I'll add a similar announcement chapter to this when I finally make those edits; if you have any questions or concerns, or want any clarification on points, leave a comment on Chapter 18 and I'll answer to the best of my ability.

Thanks for understanding, y'all. See you on the flip side of the next edits!

\- @taako-waititi


	20. Housekeeping Announcement - 6/14/2019

**I've finished making edits to Jake's timeline!** As you might imagine, this is something that spans the entire story, going as far back as Chapter 8. (At the time, "Jake" was mentioned 140 times in the entire fic. Who knew?) Because of the scope of these edits, rereading the entire goddamn story from chapter 8 onward, just for a handful of edits, might not be the best course of action. If you want to do that, then more power to you, but if not, here's a brief summary of how I compressed Jake's timeline - along with some juicy bonus content about my timeline of the gate's travel.

Here's my current gate timeline:

  * 1988-present: Kepler
  * 1958-1988: Manhattan
  * 1928-1958: Rocky Mountain National Park, near Estes Park, CO
  * 1898-1928: the Himalayas
  * 1868-1898: Scotland
  * 1838-1868: somewhere in Australia
  * 1808-1838: somewhere in Alberta, Canada
  * ...
  * 1688-1718: England
  * ...
  * 1538-1568: the western coast of modern-day California, at the time the "Viceroyalty of New Spain"



There's a few holes in there that I'm going to try and fill, but these conveniently match up with several notable things. Scotland's appearance matches with when Vanessa left, "a hundred and fifty years ago" according to Mama in Chapter 12. Alberta, Canada coincides with the 1811 sighting of Bigfoot by explorer David Thompson, the first sighting of what white people, and then the world, would come to know as Bigfoot. And the England timeline is about 30 years, give or take a few decades, behind 1735 - aka the year when the Jersey Devil was first seen in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. That gives plenty of time for our favorite Jersey Devil, Boyd Mosche, to make a break for it and cross over to the United States.

Now, here's Jake's timeline, if you don't feel like rereading the whole thing:

  * Jake and his family left Sylvain, voluntarily, around the turn of the century, when the gate was in the Himalayas. (Yes, that's when Indrid left. Yes, I'm implying that Indrid is Mr. Worldwide and had a presence outside of West Virginia, until he ultimately hit the United States in the 60's. More on that as, or if, it develops.)
  * At the time, Jake was a couple hundred years old - the Sylvan equivalent of like. Twelve. He was babey. (A bit younger than Dani and Evelyn, who at the time were maybe teenagers.)
  * He and his family lived in the Himalayas for a while - about thirty years.
  * Then the gate moved, quite literally the minute that Jake blundered through it on accident, in 1928. 
  * He was thrown out and spit into the middle of the Colorado mountains.



That's all I have for Jake's backstory for this book - but it's going to be discussed a bit, with some serious consequences, in the next book. Same as before: any questions, comments, concerns, feedback, et cetera, drop me a line in the comments, or [in my tumblr inbox.](https://taako-waititi.tumblr.com) I'd love to hear from you all! Thanks for sticking with me; now that this housekeeping is out of the way, I can officially get started on planning/outlining/writing _The Children Of Sylvain!!_ love y'all 💖💖💖

\- @taako-waititi

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hot wired](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044366) by [Scotchtape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotchtape/pseuds/Scotchtape)




End file.
